An English Idyll Poem by Christopher Tye

An English Idyll

Did it ever exist except in our dreams,
Church spires peeking up through morning mists,
Quint hamlets standing next to babbling brooks,
Farmlands and forests as far as the eye can see.

The hope and dreams of lost generations,
War memorials in every town and village,
Time passes by and still they stand in memoriam,
To remind of countless souls lost in defence of their idyll.

What of the future generations,
Will they still have our green and pleasant land,
Could the farmland and forests remain,
Wolds, fens, moors and heathland for them.

Could we be the one's to destroy this English Idyll,
Building everywhere we want too because we can,
Housing estates and industrial estates to that's all there is,
Forcing our green and pleasant land into a memory.

The village green with it's cricketers,
Stone bridges over meandering streams,
Ducks swimming in the village pons,
Churches and chapels marking the passage of time.

The rolling green hills of my youth,
Birds on the wing and sheep grazing at pasture,
Butterflies and ladybirds in cottage gardens,
The English idyll is still in my dreams.

BY Christopher Tye