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Comments about James Doyle
Autumnal friend came to stay
at Summers cottage beyond the gay
meadow by a bank of brook.
With crooked hook,
of witches book
he rapped its creaking door.
A horses bray, the evening song
of blue bird perched amid the long
stickling branches of restless trees.
Their knotted knees
let bumble bees
hide from Autumns call.
With level eye, the scene surveyed
he blew three kisses whilst he bade
a swift farewell to all unseen
‘neath shade of green,
down twinkling stream
and distant waterfall.