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I love the quiet of the country
where the only sounds I hear
are sounds of Nature, soft and safe ~
sounds that are ever-so dear.
A lonely loon, a cricket or frog ~
the contented moo of the cow;
The eerie whistle of the distant train
or the sound of the wind in the bough.
Water laps softly on the shore
wile we eat a picnic dish;
The fisherman's lure splashes the water
as he hopes to catch a fish.
In winter, the chickadee calls to me ~
he always says "hello";
And the blue jay tries to out-do him
with his never-ending bellow.
Yes, life in the country is the life for me ~
the snow stays new and white;
I look out and see the evergreens
and know that all is right.
© 2004
Joan Adams Burchell
Used with permission
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