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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #1913593
Our visit to wordsworth house in cumbria
The car door opens into cool air
Aroma so fresh colour my cheeks
The feel of your hand stroking my hair
I wish we were here for weeks

People rambling all over the place
We're still in our own little bubble
Im smiling as you touch my face
We settled on old stone rubble

It feels so good to be here with you
Timeless, yet time passes on
Just to sit and watch the view
And the small crowds steer along

We enter an church all alone
Sun filters through coloured glass
The history seeps from the stone
It gives and takes as we pass

We make our way to his home
Wordworth and lady so fair
Would sit and let their minds roam
My soul will forever be there

Through each tiny room we walk
Every nook and cranny I eye
I'm so engrossed we don't talk
And from the back window we spye

To the rear garden a wooden seat
Atop a hill of auld grasses
We climb up in a poets feet
And sat, as our history passes.


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