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Maid of the Lakes
She had got off the stage in Keswick town
And, glad of a hat, walked six miles,
Her skirt hitched up, her mind on each
Step in each rut in the lane, then thinking
Further ahead, for the night was drawing in,
Of the stranger that might be waiting there -
She'd be long dead and buried by then -
Sat in the bay window of the library
Its rows of books needing her careful dusting,
Conjuring her from the mist and wet trees. |
