The Ruined Cottage
Had
the gate not led to roofless stones
Had
the stones not shouldered the lintel
Had
the flocks not stitched the slopes
Had
shadow not stained the tumulus
Had
the hawk not pivoted from its height
Had
the hawthorn not split the rock
Had
the child not stood in the doorway
Had
the child’s dark eyes not drowned the valley
Had
the lake below not silvered in mist
Had
we not stepped through the doorway
Through
the cold grace of granite, in our ascent
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