HOMELAND
R I P
THIS I WROTE FOR MY STEPFATHER
ITS SOME THING MY MOTHER WONTED ME TO DO
Do you think I miss dear England the place I once called home.
With heather covered Moorlands where as a boy I'd freely roam.
To see brown speckled falcons take off with sprinted flight,
Their speed and aerobatics, to the eye bring shear delight.
Hare and wild rabbit , that feed in the morning mist.
These fun loving creatures are first on hunters list.
Followed by the badger and lets not forget the fox.
These creatures born of the underworld in the woods and under rocks.
I wander though high bracken to find a place to rest,
And feel the wind upon my face, with its cold but sweet caress.
I can hear the sound of church bells as they ring with cheerful tone
A church surrounded by small cottages and streets of cobble stone.
There are buttercups and daisies that grow in disarray,
Their all familiar colours make a bright and live display.
It's a haven for the artist who needs to find a theme,
For the ever searching poet, this place is such a dream.
And when my time has ended and I rest with peaceful sleep,
In my beloved Yorkshire I will no longer weep..
For there amongst the landmarks where I did used to roam
I'll no longer yearn for England, my soul will know I'm home
By C.R.Carroll