MALVERN HILL
There was a bridge curving over
the river, right there, at Malvern Hill.
I know, I saw it, I watched and I
walked it. The most beautiful place in
the world - something even my
imagination could not take all in.
Like spread fingers split by a
beautiful sunshine, the arms of
trees sheltered all the world beneath:
bright light in the valley, bright light
up above. Past it all, a gentle people
went on their way - the masons and the
carvers and the painters and the farmers.
At the dirt road's edge, near the grand
yellow house, a single rooster
was pecking the ground.
There was a bridge curving over
the river, right there, at Malvern Hill.
I know, I saw it, I watched and I
walked it. The most beautiful place in
the world - something even my
imagination could not take all in.
Like spread fingers split by a
beautiful sunshine, the arms of
trees sheltered all the world beneath:
bright light in the valley, bright light
up above. Past it all, a gentle people
went on their way - the masons and the
carvers and the painters and the farmers.
At the dirt road's edge, near the grand
yellow house, a single rooster
was pecking the ground.
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