Hill Refuge

He was the Nobile Duck Of York; He had ten thousand pens; he marched them up to the top of the hill without a spill, and he was there again bound with lens for his den

He was hopeful with luck, he wasn’t quite a stork, but had the might of papers to sort, like the breeze so glad which was also his sound sound friend, the need of also his wheel barrow cart dropped another knock with the will, with no doubt, to again use the quill,

With no fear against the door, with ten knock pounds, of soon gifts, what was sent was another helping hand to lend, for he had to make amends

He was no longer under the duress of the kingdom’s trend

He was no longer a war monger under the stress of jingoism’s way of bread

As he continued to wend, as one of the passing through men, the forest on the bottom of the hill under the sky’s own blue for pessoas with money to tend, welcomed tourists, shelter was no longer a problem for it was autumn, and the kingdom had people to at last defend

- Avalon Dakota

- 10/20/25

- 4:42pm

- Hill Refuge