Secluded from the savvy world,
Inhabitancy in the hill top hut,
There lived Lucy Gray,
The fabricated tale of William Wordsworth
She was a nature's child,
Counting stars and going wild,
Passing through hills and lands,
She dwelled on moving sands.
Eclipse taught her not to remain same,
Moon or sun, in everyone's name,
Budding buds or dried leaves,
Scorched lips or dabbled feet.
The spying hunter would hunt one day,
What to live , to live in strain.
Extinguished lamps and that snowy way,
Lamenting the death of Lucy Gray.
( Just a try to live the thoughts of the great William Wordsworth... )
