English Summer

    I watch the clouds appear in morning-grey,
    Like proper ladies, wearing flowing gowns;
    They gently tread across the hills and towns,
    Then pause, as though to bid  me a good day.

    Across the road, around the little lane,
    White houses stand in long, connected rows;
    The hedgerows break, then quietly disclose,
    A small canal that's filled with summer rain.

    There, geese and swans assemble every day,
    As Moorhens gather near the waterside;
    Beneath the oaks, a patch of berries hide,
    Protected by one ardent, squawking, jay.

    The rolling fields have turned a brilliant green,
    And stone walls whisper stories of the past;
    I  stop to ponder on the wide contrast,
    Of where I live, and this appealing scene.

    For, I reside beneath a sunny dome,
    Where palm trees sway beside a milder sea;
    But, even though it’s pleasing unto me--
    In summer, I wish England was my home.