She is my Hill

Poem to Jean
by Charlie Leck

I dreamed very vividly last night about my sister. In the dream, I created a poem for her. I kept reciting the poem, over and over. I awoke about 2 o'clock and the poem kept playing itself, again and again, in my head. So I jumped up and wrote it down as best I could remember it.

My sister, throughout my life, has been more of a mother figure to me. She was there, with my mother, on the dark night in the Bronx when I was born. My father was out, trying to find a doctor who would come and help. A birth-bond was created when I slipped out into life and it has always been very strong.

Now she fights valiantly against disease. She's a tough hombre and has no thought of going off easily. The pain is intense, but her heart remains loving and generous. She continues to give more than she receives.

This poem is for her.

She is my hill
from which
I see things around me more clearly

It is not a mountain top
but merely
a gentle, little hillock
that rises slowly and kindly
through green and gracious countryside

A mere slope ascends
that is effortlessly scaled
on a day at the height of spring
in only a moment
that seems like many pleasant, carefree years

She is my hill
from which
I see and understand my life
and all things more clearly
and dearly

It is a gentle
little hill
that looks upon and over
all the world and every village
where common people live
and love

I see
from here
all things more clearly
and dearly
and wisely
with love and tenderness
and understanding

I would not
have seen this world
so beautifully
so clearly
so dearly
had this little hillock not been here
for me to so easily ascend
on a lovely
sunny
pleasant day in May

She is my hill
from which
I see things around me more clearly
and dearly

My dear sister is such a special person in my life. I love her so dearly. How I wish I could take her pain from her and give her dozens more years to live.