The window that I peer through
At summer's break of day;
Way out, afar, and near to
I see the dawn of May.
Through the age-old pane of glass,
A masterpiece for sure,
A portrait of a different class ~
A painted Yorkshire moor.

The sun alights the heather
Though not yet coloured mauve.
The season's fur and feather
Create a treasure trove.
The image through my window square,
Just as the sunlight, that day, came ~
A pictured landscape bordered there
Inside my cottage window frame.

The doorway that I step through,
The threshold to a dream;
When the daylight starts anew
An Eden, it would seem.
So, when the squeaky handle turns
And creaking hinges swing,
The lark out in the meadow yearns
To, oh so sweetly, sing.

But evening comes for certain ~
I latch and bolt the door;
And tug and draw my curtain
When daylight is no more.
Then when I close my eyes asleep
The draughty night is born,
My window and my door will keep
Me snuggled till the morn.