The hills that march to Heaven grow harder with the years;
when one begins the journey the higher land appears.
It is a little distant but never very far,
a mile or two at most from any place you are.
As mountains on a clear day seem close when they are not,
Heaven becomes elusive and when its fields are sought,
it drifts beyond the questioning and lifts a spire to say:
“What makes you think you’ll enter my premises one day?”
But Heaven has a promise and suddenly sometimes,
with blue skies and green fields, its sweet, unbroken chimes
come hastily before us—a miracle is wrought.
Heaven is a strange land, not found when it is sought.
Poppy Herrin is married to the love of her life Jason, and together they have four daughters and one grandson. She is originally from Laurel, Mississippi, but recently relocated to Baton Rouge, Louisiana. By day she makes a living as a medical transcriptionist, and by night she works toward living the dream as a writer. Her poems have appeared in many publications and have received various contest awards.