Volume 22, Number 128,

My England
by Paula Brine-Hogan

I do not forget my England with its dancing yellow daffodils
That line the narrow, winding country roads,
And lush green grass spread across rolling hills;
The patchwork fields, and golden buttercups, and purple lilac too.

I do not forget my England with its courtyard stables.
The warm scent of cows and sheep from farms along the way.
Tiny villages, thatched cottages, and glorious English roses of every shade.
And each town with its corner store - and pubs like the Rose and Crown
With their merry groups of faithful localsTheir glasses clink, filled with good old warm English beer.

And I do not forget the sound of English voices,
Accents strong, that now sound somewhat strange - even to me!
And the family home with my memories still trapped within its walls.
So if perhaps I’ll not return to England
(For there’s no one left to see)
I’ll go back in dreams on many nights, for just a little while.
No - I will not forget my England, my old home, and still so dear to me.