Back Road Farm
1This house is built within a sheltering
2Sweep of the hills. You will not find the sea
3From attic windows; and the seasons bring
4No lift and change of tide, here in the lee
5Of the land’s high windbreak, where the buffeting
6Onshore wind is tripped on the mountain’s knee.
7No mist of blowing salt is flung to sting
8The trusting flesh. You will not find the sea.
9This property is private. Drifting rain
10Beats on its shingles and its native stone;
11The wind of August on its leaning grain
12Is dark with shadow, and the leaves are blown
13To a soft thunder. But the hills remain;
14Their strength is certain and their purpose known.
15Only at night, in the stillness, low and plain
16You can hear the far deep rumor of sea on stone.
RPO poem Editors:
Poem used with permission of the Charles Bruce Estate.