I stood high upon that hilltop-

looking down on peoples' heads

as they milled around, jostling each other.



I felt good standing above,

my heights dwarfing the moving specks below.



I had once been down there wishing,

in the fray, looking up to

see feet of others stand on this same hill.



I toiled to climb the mound,

to try and see their far and distant faces.



Now they struggle and labor to

be level, head on, with me

and they wonder what I see here, on my hill.



Little do they know, all I

see is the tops of wandering peoples' heads.



I sit, watch them climb together.

I must squint to see their faces

and I want, wish, they would see more than my feet.

This hill can be lonely.