The House On the Hill
The clouds throw shadows from the sky
on where the field hand seeks reward,
his reap leaving a golden sward
over the ground where sunlight lies.
Atop a rise a fine house stands
that somehow there does not impose
though alien in its lone repse.
all hedged about its garden land.
Now see, is that a figure there,
from a high window seems to call
mothers fond name when I was small.
across time’s spacious valley air.
I look again, like her it’s gone,
the valley deeper, too age slow
for searching pathways, I must go
as life's distractions move me on.
There’ll come a time with the sun’s rise
I may return to seek a way
all in my ending’s dreaming day
to find the truth of all surmise.
Copyright © Rick Howarth | Year Posted 2018
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