Poetry by Jeff Green

1220–My_England.html

My England

by cricketjeff on July 24, 2008.  © Jeff Green, All rights reserved

My England means a summer Sunday
Filled with beef and cream and fruit
Never with a thought of Monday
Early morning tie and suit
At the Oval watching cricket
Eyes half closed to dream of you
Wide awake to cheer a wicket
Nothing else on Earth will do

England means some woodland walking
Smell of pine trees, dappled air
Friends around but not much talking
And I feel you everywhere
Spring in Lakeland, striding edges
Far below a tarn lies still
Scramble up on mountain ledges
Mind to wander where it will

England is a beach in Winter
Winds arrive from where you live
Cold so sharp your breath can splinter
All the hope a life can give
Skimming stones or dodging breakers
Weather changes on a whim
Swapping dreams with any takers
Chances of a match are slim

England means an Autumn harvest
Every apple known to man
Thunderstorms where hopes are darkest
Golden sunsets mend the plan
England means my home forever
Even though you’re far away
But anyone the least bit clever
Knows home mayn’t be where you stay

Author notes

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