We go today up Peter's hill, br my dog and I up pine trail walk. br We reach the top, a kind of sill br I set my old bones on a rock. br br For they are very weary old bones, br and the granite is carved in blocks. br A clever arrangement of very old stones br people sure do love their rocks. br br My dog and I look down the hill br From that stone, holding those old bones, br gray rain clouds make the air feel chill br As we sit on the clever arrangement of stones. br br At the hill's bottom there's kind of a gleam br And then trees rise up misty and green. br Could be a puddle or even a stream br To old eyes its not clearly seen. br br And dim in gray distance a city is etched br Just beneath sky's edge and lowering cloud. br Across the horizon old Boston is stretched br But the rain in the trees is getting quite loud. br br My dog's fur is starting to mold to his side br As he looks at me kind of forlorn. br He awaits in his patience for what I decide br If from my deep thoughts I'll be torn. br br The falling rain brings the smell of the sea br out of sight as it is beyond the far town. br No shelter I find under high branching tree br And the rain now it starts to pelt down. br br I pull my hat lower and my collar up br We start down the back of the hill. br I call and he's with me, the very wet pup br The cold drops on both of us still. br br Our way takes us lower and left the trail bends br On the path that leads over old bones. br They also are resting as dirt with them blends br 'Neath a clever arrangement of stones.br br Paul C. Maybury Jr.