Red Hill

Somewhere in west Oklahoma
I saw a fine red hill,
Crafted by time,
A hill where doubtlessly
Many went to appreciate sunrises.

It was me and my friends-
A group who wanted some freedom.
And the fine red hill
Beckoned someone for a climb.

So we went.

Bounding, racing, straggling against the red slope
We reached the top,
Parallel with wind and friend,
All things suddenly fitting themselves
Into shoes of liberty.

We had left sea level far behind.
It was only the roar of the wind
And our drowned shouts of victory.