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When your house sets on a
ridge,
A crow's straight flight looks for a bridge.
Skims he over the tallest hedge,
Missing my window only by a breath.
Distance drops away for us to view,
Far away hills, light and darks all askew
If God loved us any more,
Surely nothing else could be in store
His ridges, hedges, views and scapes,
Tell me to cover not the window with drapes.
If land be scarce and on a ridge you must build
Worry not, somehow it may have been from God willed. |
