morning poem, December 27, 2016


We’ll go to the mountains, you and me

There’s nowhere else I’d rather be

Like Scots on the Isle of Innisfree

We’ll dine and dance and hide the key


There are houses in the towns, once grand

There we’ll stay and there we’ll stand

Where creeks rush over golden sand

We’ll pay a dime and own the land.


We’ll wear our old clothes everyday

No one to meet, no dues to pay

No work to do, no thing to say

We came to rest, and here we’ll stay

In truth and love

The old-fashioned way



Copyright 2016

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