Dear Old Blighty What of England's future Empire, history, sail ship grey. Cold stone with names we won. Pavements in church yards. faded letters fill with ice. Carved by hands that grip no more. Memories sit on thrones we adore. Shellies work all it's been done Poetry describing passions. The grate is cold from fire. England my only true desire. Petticoats of morning mist, Frills on corner fields persist. As English men stir their tea, In china cups like her majesty. For onward comes a red dawn, Like fire from the almighty. I really love dear old blighty. England has turned to light the way. The Aussies lost in ashes. An English mans life for me. Oh I love England majesty. Our Winter has it's reign, Ice Queens Edwardian desire. Bird song, icy, silent, choir In England, we keep our spirits up, On cards and by the fire. For me, I love the spring. It's gods irresistible desire. Colours burn as green to gold. Life crawls from every hole. And birds they fly with stuff to fill. nests that keep out the frosty chills. God I love England's green. Our Forever and the brave. Its our queen we should save. Summer may not be hot, And rain may light the day. But I would rather be in England. Rather have my moments this way. by Normskiii (c) 2011.
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