Sleepy Village. Poem by Michael Cochrane
Sleepy Village.
Born by the sleepy village by the sea, we played in the hills, along the paths and yellow fields. Summertime in the shade of the old oak tree, watching sunsets over the glen, the swallows flying overhead, and beautiful skies of violet and blue.
Michael Cochrane ©
Wednesday, July 20, 2022
Topic(s) of this poem: old,beautiful,sea,tree
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8/29/2026 2:05:24 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
