All poets yearn for the days of another time and place
where childhoods dreams and visions are portrayed with no haste
where free spirits roam the alleyways where bat and ball are played
where innocence and pleasure cannot be overplayed
in those precious moments where beauty holds the key
where victor is a warm embrace and grace a roaring sea
the dawn comes up each morning birds whistle in the trees
the heaths are full of heather with room for you and me
the places we remember like the church upon the hill
the bells ringing in the morning the river flowing still
the sounds of children's laughter as they run out to play
the valleys and the hillsides where god meets man each day
the flowers and the seasons that somehow rarely change
the cows out in the meadows where Susie rearranged
her dress of secret passions with buttons all in tow
her smile that lit the evening sky and made your passions flow
the walks across the purbecks and the run upon the green
where hardy wrote his novels and Augustus drew the scene
the gypsies on the commons where Crusoe came to call
the lord and lady wimborne cottages when we thought we knew it all
the pastures o'er the farmlands where milk was gathered in
the furrows and the hedges where the farmers set their sins
the fancy coach and horses with black bear inn so true
the ringing of the bells on sundays whilst the cows replied with moos
the recreation playgrounds with soccer and goalposts
of coats and jumper cardys and talk of Paddy's goats
the dogs that barked all evening and wagged their tails and licked
the dreams of childhoods pleasures like monkeys on a stick