On Sundays
The girl from the farm
On the hill
Brings fresh air and
Sunlight to the dimming house
Cooks you sausages
Sits with you brightly
In the too-warm room
Reading books
Talking menageries
And school trips
At night
You lie in your cot by the fire
In the sleeking embrace of the stream
That scarfs the house silver
Listen to the moonlight
And the owls
The wind tugging
Softly at the eaves
