Many are the years I have walked these ways,
Down from the moors to the rich, grassy leys.
From boy to man I have trod this ground—
A richness of nature, paradise found.
From hedgerow to hilltop I know this land,
Familiar to me as the back of my hand.
The call of the curlew is in my ear
Amid the clamor of the city, I'm an alien here.
Give me the woods and the tall trees of home
And my valley of green where often I roam.
To the folks in their office and factory floor,
I would not swap for a life less poor.
So I'll wander the backwoods and fields of wheat
And thank God I'm a country boy, far from the street.


© by Stephen Charlesworth.
Used with the author's permission.