The Cottage by Elizabeth Henry

If I could own a cottage,

I’d have one by the sea.

A string of roses o’er the door,

Beside a gnarly tree.

 

I’d sit for hours reading,

Atop a crooked seat,

With geese and ducks and speckled hens

All gathered at my feet.

 

Chasing through the flowerbeds,

I’d like a trickling stream,

A place to sketch or pen a book,

A hideaway to dream.

 

I’d love a rusting Aga

And a pair of ratty chairs.

I’d have an awry passageway

Beneath some twisting stairs.

 

My bed would have an eiderdown,

A mattress soft and worn.

And through the small, sprigged window

I would gaze across the lawn.

 

I’d even cherish wintertide,

When storms maraud the coast,

By drowsing near a searing fire

With honey, tea and toast.