Across The Windswept Downs I Go Poem by ANDREW BLAKEMORE

Across the windswept downs I go
Which lead unto the waiting sky,
And as the gusts do strongly blow
I watch the clouds go racing by,
Between their forms the sun does shine
Upon the slopes of yellow gorse,
With which the heather does entwine
To verge this worn and stony course.

Beyond I see each rolling field
A patchwork there of light and shade,
Unto my eyes are now revealed
The wonders that the Lord has made,
For there the ocean deep and blue
The rolling waves and cliffs of white,
And as I look upon that view
With awe I marvel at the sight.

So rich the green and pleasant land
That fills my heart with lasting pride,
To know that God's almighty hand
Has blessed this English countryside,
Across the windswept downs I go
And watch the bushes shake and bend,
As still the gusts do strongly blow
Where beauty knows no bounds nor end.