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Fortress
I do not want to leave this place.
It is my meat and drink, my life,
My care, my dream, my pride, my inspiration.
Yes, and my fortress,
Though apple blossom edges it with lace
And the mountains cradle it in their bosom.
I love it from before the sun
Tips its light over the morning ridge
Till after the fire fades
From the evening sky, and then
The whole night long of stars
And shimmering cicadas.
I love the rain chuckling
In the gutters, shining the leaves,
Conspiring with the sun to throw a rainbow
Over the tower; and thunder
Growling in the mountains; and mist
Rolling up the wood’s edge like a breaker.
I love the lamps, the lighted windows,
The soft, distant owls, the moths
High on the walls, the lizards
Flicking across hot tiles,
The roses, the rosemary, the woodpecker
Drumming and laughing, laughing as it flies.
I love the echo from the hill,
And the neighbour calling
To her chickens, and the thump
Of a falling apple, and the rattle
Down, down, down
Of an acorn on the roof.
But more than anything I love
The colours of the summer:
Stained-glass poppies, mosaics
Of walnut leaves, sunflowers drowning
In the ocean of the sky - too beautiful
These days for me to contemplate.
by Damaris West
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