It was long, long ago ---
A melancholy sky drapes low over this Sunday Cornwall village.
A light snow begins to clothe nearby hedgerows
turning the village road from a cobblestone brown
to a vivid and lively white.
A gust of Atlantic wind struggles amidst the streets
and as I walk, hearths and candles flicker inside homes
wedged at the edge of this horse and carriage road.
A strong breath of bread competes with the wind in my nostrils
from the house on the corner where a young girl in a blue bonnet
stares through a curtained window.
She turns away to release the stove of its daily fare
no doubt longing for her sweetheart
who works in the local tin mine.
On this day townsfolk attended Minister Church
where moss and lichen most beautiful
make for a lush green sanctuary.
As I walk the narrow road
the dusk grows near.
There! The old lamplighter is making his rounds!
One lamp to go and he can go home to his hearth.
Such was the English life in a 19th century village.
It was long, long ago.