Home From The Hill
B
Barry Middleton
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never will I climb that meadow path
where I did wander in my youth
the hunter is home from the hill
never will I glide across the lake
the blackened mirror of the sky
the fisherman grew old
always I will sleep beneath the stars
at rest at last beside the oak
within my woodland home
no more I roam the valleys that I loved
my boots and gloves are finally stored
the hunter is home from the hill
~~~~~
With a nod to Robert Lewis Stevenson.
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