There's a little piece of woodland
near to where I roam,
Where the bluebells and the buttercups
are left to do their own.
The birch, the beech, the alder
the sycamore and ash,
They seem to wander aimlessly
into the sky a vast.
And in this piece of woodland
the holly grows so free,
And protects it from the outside world
with its thorny crown of leaves.
The birds, the bees, the butterflies
Are left to live in peace,
As the river swims so endlessly
towards the oceans deep.
And as I sit here all alone
in mother nature's grasp,
She eases me of troubled mind
and cleans my burdened soul.