England my England

As blossoms form and larks do sing

The welcome west winds warm the Spring,

O'er hills of England softly play

Blowing the winter's cold away.

In lowly dale by riverside

Where marigolds and rush reside,

Fast running water there you'll find

Leaving the hills and dales behind.

New born lambs on far away hills

Graze either side of narrow rills,

With elegance they bounce and play

On England's landscape far away.

A white-washed cottage stands nearby

Beneath a blue and cloudless sky,

Where wisps of smoke from chimney top

Head heaven bound and do not stop.

Those flowery beds and lawns between

That give the Spring its greatest scene,

With daffodils - their heads held proud

They host but do not overcrowd.

Beyond the cottage tended field

With winter crops that soon will yield

The crops that keep old England fed

By farmer on his small homestead.

Just past that field a path well trod

A blacksmith's shop, where horse is shod,

The rustic bench where walkers rest

This is my England at its best.