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366@40 Day 206 271111

From a twisted spire, that is not far,
To a little castle, we travel by car.
Hills we do see, enveloped by a fog,
The women just there, is walking her dog.

From a twisting stream, by an old mill,
To an ruined mansion, stood on the hill.
Hills we do see, hidden in a haze,
A county of choice, to spend your days.

From a twisted ruin, broken on the lands,
To the nine stones, built by ancient hands.
Hills we do see, layers within the mist,
A more varied place, you just couldn't wish.

Copyright 1990 - 2013 Craig Wadner