A Place Of Solitude

By Ernestine Northover

Look out across the windswept hills,
With rainbow hues, with misty blues,
Across the valleys, lakes and rills,
Where landscapes fuse, where eyes peruse,
And rest upon that quaint cottage small,
Tall chimney stack, with smoke of black.
A place of solitude from any squall.
That winding track, that calls you back,
To rest from ills,
To sit and muse.
With thoughts to trawl
With a homing tack.

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