Nestled where the wild thorns grow,
A quaint abode, as stories show.
Twisted vines and berries sweet,
Mark the path to this retreat.

Walls of stone, and chimney tall,
Smoke that whispers, hearth’s warm call.
In a glen where secrets lodge,
Guarded by the living hedge.

Here, the roses intertwine,
With nature's art, by design.
Name this place, if you have the knowledge,
A hidden, thorny, berry cottage.

Look closer at your image-taker
His dwelling therein lies the answer