A HOME IN THE COUNTRY

When I was very small the family bought a plot of land,
Everyone worked together to build a home, it was very grand,
Or so it seemed to me, it stood all alone in our own field,
We planted many vegetables, we always had a good yield.

Our nearest neighbour, old Bill, was about a mile away,
It was always very tranquil at the end of every day,
Very little traffic went on the road past our happy home,
And you could see the house lights, when you did roam.

We built a lovely white fence and put plants along the side,
Oh, the flowers were so pretty they filled us all with pride,
There are always lots of things to do, new things to see
When you live out in the country, you are as happy as can be.

But then slowly others came, some wanted to buy our home
No one wanted to move, we’d helped to build it stone on stone.
They said a road would have to go right where our house stood,
And they would have to go and dig up pretty bluebell wood.

Now my home is a different one on a little street and garden small,
No place for adventure in the woods, we just go across to the mall,
But deep down inside me the longing never seems to go away,
For a house in the country, that maybe mine again one day.

M Ann Margetson © May 2, 2001

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