In a tiny house on the hills of the East
Far, far away from any town or village
A poor man and his seven little sons lived,
The house door opened straight on to the hillside
And all around were moorlands and huge stones
And swampy hollows, never a house nor much human activity
Wherever you might look, for their close neighbors mostly
Were the fairies in the glen below and browned grass
*
The man kept ducks and planted shrub yielding spices about the house
He had a meek donkey which knew nothing but eating hay,
When the man looked outside, through the house windows
It was winter and other times summer…
So times changed before his eyes, and he knew not what to do with his little sons….
The snow was thick upon the ground and on the tree branches in winter
And when it was summer, the yellow sun was high up the cloudy sky,
Now, the house had many strange visitors
The grey and white barn owls came mostly in the cold winter,
The rats, of course deemed themselves co-owners of the house,
Gophers only came during the hot summer with some stray scorpions
When it drizzles, though it seldom rains the centipedes find their way in
The most vile among the visitors was the coyotes which prowled
About the house and the mountains around it in the dead night
So when they howl at night, the little boys shivered under their bed covers
And the other inhabitants of the woods take care not to cross their path
In the morning, the boys saw claw marks on the wooden bench
And when they told their father, he wished it away, asking for breakfast
To be continued…
