White and silent
Lie the hills,
Down the lane from Strawberry Mills,
That echo back
Up the path to Raspberry Shack.
Up the path
To Raspberry Shack
Sits an old, old man in black,
Naming the months
And counting the days
Turning left to Blueberry Way.
To Blueberry Way
There a kind old woman stays,
That she might meet
On their way to Blackberry Street.
On their way
To Blackberry Street,
Shielding their faces from rain in sheets,
Down the valleys
And up the hills
Down the lane from Strawberry Mills.
Down the lane
From Strawberry Mills,
White and silent lie the hills.
Then the sky turns
From grey to black,
Silencing shouts that echo back.
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