Where will you find it?
The real England I mean.
Not there in those biscuit lid villages
Where camera crews are seen
And pagan barns converted
Fringe the village green.
Perhaps beside the motorway
Where HGV’s make thunder
And weary children in
Trembling bunk beds wonder
If they’ll ever sleep again.
In the statuary of history
Or forgotten soldiers’ feet
In books by Agatha Christie
Or that multicultural beat
Amidst these rumpled hills
Or sunlight on The Shard
In the shadows of old mills
Or the wisdom of The Bard.
Perhaps beside a river bend
Where an angler waits all day
As mallards in the shallows
Watch tiny ducklings play
Regardless of danger.
Where will you find it?
The real England I mean.
Not here where keyboard keys
Strive to process what has been -
This place of hope and memory
The kingdom of a queen.
Amidst these rumpled hills
Or sunlight on The Shard
In the shadows of old mills
Or the wisdom of The Bard.
Perhaps beside a river bend
Where an angler waits all day
As mallards in the shallows
Watch tiny ducklings play
Regardless of danger.
Where will you find it?
The real England I mean.
Not here where keyboard keys
Strive to process what has been -
This place of hope and memory
The kingdom of a queen.
from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/3u08Hgu
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