Soft valleys of sweet denial,
of temperament and age,
eroded banks of days gone by,
and mountains topped with sage.

The river swift and filled with trout,
a fisher’s greatest dream,
a village worn and still unchanged,
a place of high esteem.

Encircled by no barrier
of wood and brick or stone.
A simple place to live and work,
Its origins unknown.

Alas! If I could find the place
I saw in midnight dream,
then I at last would be at peace,
no matter what things seem.


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