The Cottage

The rotting beams were not rot proof

But crumbled in the hand.

The tiles were shattered on the roof,

Distinctly so when scanned.

Now, instead of a bare wall

Through which one cannot see at all,

One communes with the world outside,

And views nature in its stride.

Where peace and silence do abide,

And nature has been sorely tried –

Now places that were fluffed with dust

Wear a fresher look we trust.

The wilderness is cleared from weeds –

Where happiness, content now breeds.

The whole place once beset by rust

Now wears a fresher look I trust.

No light could enter the small room,

The whole place was beset by gloom –

Now that the bars have been removed

The whole room is enlightened, soothed.

Where there were struts like prison bars,

Which the whole place plainly mars,

Now enter in the space and light

Floods in, and there’s a prospect bright

Of earth, of nature, sky and sea

And mountain with due symmetry.