RUSSELL, MARY DUSK

DUSK

The fire is low,

The lamps is lit,

The night creeps on,

And then we sit

Around the fire,

And talk away to our desire. 

The door doth sing a whiny tune,

Drowning the murmurs in the gloom.

It now gets darker than before,

And all is quiet but the door.

Mary Russell Age 11

Tullygrawley School

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