R
Robert Harrison
Guest
On the green fields of Warwickshire
In her Bluebells carpeted wood.
Along her banks by rivers flow,
As a child I have often stood.
Upon her narrow pavements
Where Hopscotch had been chalked,
Beside the hedge fenced houses
As a child I often walked.
The horse road claimed by children,
And steam lorries hauling beer.
Along with rumbling steam roller,
As a child, I did often cheer.
The lakes I loved at Earlswood
Tranquil in summer’s blazed heat.
Their banks were lined with rushes
As a child, I did often pleat.
Buttercups, Daises and Coltsfoot,
All the glories that painted the sod
Of the greenest of green in her pastures,
As a child, I have often trod.
Epilogue
And what of you great city of Birmingham
Who’s glory now lies in the past,
Does your glory now lie in your people?
Or in your dead children’s hearts
Warwickshire, Oh my dear Warwickshire
Have I loved thee all these long years?
How can I prove how much I love thee?
In memory, I cry a child’s tears.
In her Bluebells carpeted wood.
Along her banks by rivers flow,
As a child I have often stood.
Upon her narrow pavements
Where Hopscotch had been chalked,
Beside the hedge fenced houses
As a child I often walked.
The horse road claimed by children,
And steam lorries hauling beer.
Along with rumbling steam roller,
As a child, I did often cheer.
The lakes I loved at Earlswood
Tranquil in summer’s blazed heat.
Their banks were lined with rushes
As a child, I did often pleat.
Buttercups, Daises and Coltsfoot,
All the glories that painted the sod
Of the greenest of green in her pastures,
As a child, I have often trod.
Epilogue
And what of you great city of Birmingham
Who’s glory now lies in the past,
Does your glory now lie in your people?
Or in your dead children’s hearts
Warwickshire, Oh my dear Warwickshire
Have I loved thee all these long years?
How can I prove how much I love thee?
In memory, I cry a child’s tears.