Shady Bronn

When the clouds come deep against the sky

I sit alone in my room to think,

To remember the fairy dreams I made,

Listening to the rustling out of the trees.

The stories in my fairy-tale book

Come new to me every day.

But at my farm on the hill-top

I have the wind for a fairy,

And the shapes of things:

Shady Bronn is the name of my little farm:

It is the name of a dream I have

Where leaves move,

And the wind rings them like little bells.