Honeysuckle climbs walls upon,

A cottage a mile north of Corfe.

From there, Castle ruins seem dwarf,

Swathed in soft mist at break o’ dawn.

House Martins dance above the lawn,

Sounds like the perfect picture book.

Sat in the fireside inglenook,

Recall the wind, rain and frost bite?

Teeny windows emit no light?

Nothing’s as bliss as it might look!

(Decima)

Post inspired by Ronovan and his Décima Poetry Prompt No. 24 (LOOK) – visit the link for the rules if you too would like to join in.

Published by TheHiddenEdge

I love words - they communicate so much or so little depending on how you use them. Come and explore my thoughts with me in this, my learning journal. View all posts by TheHiddenEdge