Bird’s song, each pure note
Rings high above the trees.
A French garden remote
Whispers in the breeze.

Garlic and red wine.
The general air of peace
The senses do refine.
All our tensions cease.

Take me back again
To that abundant place.
Even the falling rain
Felt good on my face.

Lupins, lilies fair,
Weeds in the stoned drive.
The joy of country air
Made us feel alive.

A church bell nearby.
The shuttered house now sleeps
Far from London’s cry
A long vigil keeps.

New tales will unfold
Beneath the sturdy beams,
When slanted sunlight gold
Wakes her from her dreams.


2 thoughts on “THE HOUSE IN OFFIN

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