On a lonely hill, where no one makes home, is a
Rest house. On that hill, where crickets take ease
And lay their tune, where brothers aim never to go, yet
Their sisters try to rest their heads, is that rest house.
With foundations foreign and strong yet weak to the
Muddy terrain, sturdy and yet, so frail to the seasons there;
This rest house was made to ease the weary and travelling in
Welcomes those who use it for a wicked aim, and then leave.
The caretaker has no complaints; it gets so lonesome on that hill;
When the rest house is his mind.
||THE REST HOUSE||