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.