The White Rose Of Home

Here am I, standing above the small town of my birth

Far below, the people seem to scuttle about like insects

Pure heaven is the scenery, as the hills reach out to the stars
You would have to see it to believe a magic like this existed

Lately I have wondered the length of the dales,
Imagination most certainly has a home here, amongst these
Tired, peaceful valleys, the lambs play happily in the fields
They don't seem to care as ramblers walk on by

Listening from above, all i can hear is the soft song of the wind
Every mile of this landscape, is riddled with adventure
Yes, every field of this landscape holds history and magic
Of bygone years, and battles fought, both won and lost

Reality seems to fade as you walk through the forests
Keep to the path though as there are fairy folk close by
Sometimes, if you listen closely you can hear there
Hushed whispers, speaking a language long forgotten

I know deep down inside of me, that it is right here

where my heart was born and where it shall remain forever,
deep within the countryside, I shall be forever

captured by the pure beauty of the land of the white rose.

The people are friendly, always willing to open there arms
Out and say a fond hello to visitors and newcomers
Where in the world can you find somewhere that contains such
Naked and raw magic, to explore.