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Dry stone walls pattern the abandoned hillsides Slopes exhausted from hands ekeing out What little could be drawn from the mountain soil. Down the foothills heather and gorse Give way to a patchwork of Green and brown fields. Here and there in a clutch of trees A house and barn, home of a local family. In the valley a castle overlooks the river, And from the banks parkland spreads out The setting of a privileged life, Of those who took others’ birthright And gave themselves land and title: Lord this, earl that, duke the other. Nothing but thieves made respectable by time. |
