Remote cottage in a blanket fold
of purple hills in spring
a gem beneath a sky of blue and gold,
a peaceful, quiet thing.
Summer lazes where the spring has been,
a fragrant, scented cloak;
then hills, from purple, change to yellow, green
and russet-brown and oak.
Autumn passes by this lonely site,
and cold the winter breathes
laying down her shroud of silver-white
on autumn's dying leaves.
Remote cottage in a blanket fold
of white awaiting spring;
warm beneath a dying winter cold
a peaceful, quiet thing.