Brenchley By Dark

Brenchley by Dark

Storm wind took the power from Windmill Hill
by torchlight the Georgian house paints itself a Reynolds
Jane Austen wraps her pelisse close in the carriage
smoke sings of warm conversation and a musicale
a spark of wit perhaps drifting, a dash of crimson on a velvet night
candles in the windows make silhouettes cut by a master hand
out of this time to some other