Is echoing through the silence of the quiet Rural day
In four days the birth of Winter with the demise of May.
Of this old Southern Country so little do I know
And to the wide brown Countryside the Seasons come and go
And somewhere in the distance the lowing of a cow
Things will not have changed that much in a hundred years from now.
A stranger in this Country is all I’ll ever be
Yet I can only marvel at the beauty around me
A beauty that is timeless that will live forever more
That was here for centuries before the first people came to the southern shore.
Across the wide brown landscape that could do with more trees
On a cool morning in late May of around twelve degrees
A freshening wind is blowing down from the old brown hill
Through a Land as old as time itself where time seems to stand still.