verse on a hill

known quantity bereft of quality;
a name of little beyond its letters,
by road’s shoulder perhaps guide

to openly weep a slippery slope
of once having known someone’s art
yet lay hold naught of their heart

eternally flowing river of kindnesses
shall meander, thoughts ever caress
even when words and faces now drift

a familiar feeling remains here still
years invested this regenerating gift
lines and verse ever ascend that hill