Along the north a mountain crest,
A row of trees runs towards the west;
The south is all a field for play,
For work the east has marked a way;
The night shows all the stars above,
And the long, long day, a mother's love.
Cookies on Poetry Cove
We use cookies to remember your language preference and — only with your consent — to learn how Poetry Cove is used. You can change your mind any time.
THE BOUNDARIES OF A HOUSE · Michael Earls · Poetry Cove