NOTHING'S PERFECT

A FLY IN THE OINTMENT

It's a grand land is our land 

of fells and fields and trees.

With streams and rivers running through

 .....and nettles to the knees 

Tiny trickles. Little streams

Broad brooks and rivers wide

Down rock strewn clefts then meadows flat

.....with nettles down each side.

Our skies are grey.  It often rains

but when the sun comes out 

The grass is greener, all is bright 

.....and nettles make you shout !

The distant hills rise warm and brown .

Though mist can oft obscure.

The paths we walk are flower bedecked

.....and dock leaves nettles cure. 

The sea is seldom far away 

Our land and waves are friends 

Our footwarm sands stretch mile on mile 

 ......No nettles -  we'll  pretend

The sheep are calm the cows content

Our farmers country wise

And folks who say they've ne'er been stung

.....are telling whopping lies.

This land of ours a wonderland

Where there is space to dream

Paths to follow. Heights to climb.

.....and  plants that make you scream.

No need to envy southern folk 

Whose hills are smooth and round

Their weather's better. That's quite true

...but  nettles still are found

The Midland folk have beauty too 

but surely claustrophobic. 

The things we value they don't have.

.....and nettles there grow thick.

I'm sure that places we don't go

have beauty, awe and wonder

But they're not OURS and this land IS.

...............and sod the nettles ! 

                                                             JW

 with acknowledgements to 
"The South Country" by Hilaire Belloc and"The West Wind"  by John Masefield