Our Highest Good

We have, upon this rock, within this wood,
Shut off from noisy men and busy roads,
That solitude which is our highest good.
There’s no mad activists’ illogic loads,
Nor coward thiefs to thieve us if they could,
But only birds and sky, the sunlight smiling fair,
While bluffing breezes tustle with out hair.
Our feet swing free above the waving grass
As shades of geese light cool us as they pass.
“Moo!” Low trombone cow walks slowly by,
Lists to our laughter, rolls its heavy eye!
Lucky us, it’s not a braying ass!
That solitude which is our highest good,–
Still ours, upon this rock, within this wood.

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