Naught but me to breathe the air;
Coveting not the hive dispensed
Whence I to paradise commenced -
Nor will my heart crane backward look
From moss clad oaks and singing brook
Or wish for wheels to carry me
Through grove and copse to wishing tree - that sapling e're so long ago
rooting up whilst I did grow, -
Now fruited, full leafed, stalwart limbed,
A bower lush bespreading dim.
There hide I now, serene and filled
With satisfaction's prize, self-willed.
Where dee and vole do reckless play
Cavort I now through dream-rept days
Within, without fair rustic cot
From wade-me depths to garden plot.
Beside a warp'd and creaking wheel
I often rest, 'tis where the feel
Attends, as seated on a throne of staves,
Long sought, seeming ever-craved
The feel of conquering my quest
For wold-rung pool and home so blessed
Soft pervades the fragrant air...
Begifts me peace in solitaire.
~ written for and presented to
RI-Rose of Tiverton, RI
- a special friend, and kindred spirit -
on the occasion of her July birthday.
by Will Wagar
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