Shady Bronn

Hilda Conkling

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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.

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