I once thought the hills would last forever,
a likely place for a caring God to reside,
perhaps in a sun-dappled forest glade
just on the other side

from whence would come the help I sought
in pressing times of need.
They’d last forever, so I thought,
no warning did I heed.

But then almost before we knew
destruction had its way—
trees clear-cut till the hills were bare,
bulldozers ruled the day.

I was sure the mountains would survive
where a loving God could dwell.
I consoled myself by quoting,
He doeth all things well.

But once more man intruded
with his machines infernal.
I learned that neither verdant hills
nor mountains are eternal.

Elaine Parker Akin
2020