Annies's Poem
I think it will be winter when I die.(for no one in the North should die in spring)
And when It's almost dark, I'll set my feet
where a white path goes glimmering
up a hill and see far up, a light.
Would you think Heaven could be so small
a place as a lit window on a hill at night?
And come in stumbling from the gloom,
Half blind into a firelit room,
Turn around and see you all,
and there abide.
If it were true, I almost wish it were
tonight I died.
Ann Clare Huston
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