Tuesday, 15 September 2015

The Hut on the Moor...

It was so quiet
The old Sheppard’s hut on the moor,
Always in darkness
With dust on the floor.

A rusted kettle,
A blanketed bed,
Even in winter,
A home for Fred.

There was a small fire
On which he could bake,
But on stormy nights,
 The roof would shake!

He meant to fix holes
Through which came the rain,
But he couldn’t climb the ladder,
For too much pain.

Once he’d had a job
And he’d painted the walls,
Now they were rotting
And soon they would fall.

Don’t think Fred is lonely,
He has his sheep,
At nightfall their noises,
Will lull him to sleep.

In summer the sun shines
Through broken windows,
And where Fred will wander,
Nobody knows!

But he’ll always come back,
For it is nature he loves,
The changing of the seasons,
And the wide skies above.


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