At the bottom of the road
Across the field
And the Brook
There stands a cottage so run down
That every day I am surprised
It is still there
Years pass
I move away
This cottage passes from my mind
As life with all its joy and pain
Drives this whimsical wondering from my head
Now I am old and all my life is lived every question answered
Every mistake lived
I walk to the bottom of the road
Across the field
And the Brook
Then I turn away
walk back and never look
It will still be there

Atop a mountain
Between the trees
The swallow swoops
And weaves
It dives and rises
So swift and smooth
And in its beak its prize
Up and up and up it flies
Until to the ground it is nothing but sky
I stare into the pale blue
To never know if what I saw was true
Or just some fantasy of grace