Poetale: The house outside the city, Part 1

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…

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