From the fields of my younger years I live far away
But in fancy I do visit them every day
And I see the hawthorns in their blooms of white to gray
And hear the nesting birds sing in the sunshine of May
The praises of Nature I feel happy to sing
And of the beauty I knew in a far away Spring
Were I born a poet of such I would write
For others to read and enjoy and recite
Though where mine was once quite a well known face
I may now be seen as a stranger and feel out of place
But the fields I did love would look much the same
I knew many of them by their given name
And the birds of the wood or the grove or hedgerow
By their chirpings or songs I am sure I would know.
But in fancy I do visit them every day
And I see the hawthorns in their blooms of white to gray
And hear the nesting birds sing in the sunshine of May
The praises of Nature I feel happy to sing
And of the beauty I knew in a far away Spring
Were I born a poet of such I would write
For others to read and enjoy and recite
Though where mine was once quite a well known face
I may now be seen as a stranger and feel out of place
But the fields I did love would look much the same
I knew many of them by their given name
And the birds of the wood or the grove or hedgerow
By their chirpings or songs I am sure I would know.
