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The cottage

 

 

I came across a cottage,

That stood amongst some trees,

And smoke from the chimney,

Was being fanned by a gentle breeze.

 

The cottage fire was burning,

You could see it through the door,

The sweet smell of burning logs,

From the stack upon the floor.

 

The crackle from the fire,

It looked so very warm,

The old man tends his garden,

In clothes all ripped and torn.

 

In a rocking chair a sweet old lady sits,

With hair of silver gray,

Sunrays peeping through the trees

On this summer’s day.

 

The garden decked with flowers,

With primroses round my feet,

The birds they were singing,

They sang so very sweet.

 

The smell of new made bread,

That carried on the breeze,

Little animals playing in the sun,

As they dart amongst the trees.

 

A scarecrow in the field stands,

To frighten away the birds,

It was a picture that I saw,

So I put it into words.

Malcolm Bradshaw

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