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my dorset homeAbove the old maids castle where there is no fortress stone below the rocky cove where smugglers once did roam aside the lone arched doorway which leads out to the sea in the distance is the castle which tells of history somewhere in the distance i hear the church loud bells where grassed earth walls surround one and the mad miller tells his tales the winding river piddle runs aside the trent where common country yokels once paid squires for their rent and the writer poet teacher barnes was for heaven sent in the town where hardy walked and first told of a tale of country folk and common jokes not heard for a while where farming folk once told such yarns of cow and pig and stile to artist bold and poets old who always wore a smile in the stocks of village greens the vagabonds were plentifull the little church the big white house astride the millers lane where gypsy folk rode wagons bold one time then see the port of the market town a tower into view spreads out to heathers downs a little train runs through the park once blessed by the crown six eagles stand guardians of treasures of the town whilst the dolphins rise and ride the waves all are homeward bound see the heaths where soldiers ride in tanks and power station resides close by the cottage where once lawrence did hide the cloudy hill his memories are there still the warrior stands on hill his manhood in full view across the bay of ships and sands and tourists brave the spray where old queen stands statued by hand and looks out on the bay from hill to toe its quite a show at regalla time of day cottage of anne to shifting sands of artists in the hay through winding lanes and heathered plains and bees along the way on blossomed trees of fancy leas one time the gypsies roamed and the haystacks kissed the sky thats where we durzet folks call home Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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