England Poem by Joshua Swanson

A land of drifting mists and rolling plains,
Of fields; and forests filled with ancient trees,
And the pleasent fall of frequest rains,
That pitter-patter up among the leaves.

I cry, and tears fall softly,
Silken drops of singing, sighing rain.
For England is my home, and always has been,
This much to me has been made plain.

For now I leave, and go somewhere away,
Away from gentle rains and flowing fields.
But hopefully one day I'll come back home,
And live in great green England once again.

Gnarled oaks in emerald woods,
And bushes by the roadside,
Sparkling dew on gleaming grass,
And fields of poppies where good men have died.

Sandy cliffs by cold see shores,
Oh England, I am forever yours!