Arthingworth

 

Out of the window I can see

a wood with lots of different trees,

and daffodils with heads of gold,

standing upright proud and bold.

 

And through the window I can see

Just peeping above all these trees

the weather cock standing up on high,

reaching for the morning sky.

 

Alas I`m very sad to say,

it cannot greet another day,

but gleaming in the morning sun

it does not seem to miss the fun.

 

The church bells ring the morning call,

and perched up in the tower so tall

and villagers gradually make their way

to thank God for another day.

 

The farmer and his wife

lead a different sort of life,

working from dawn to the end of day

trying to make farming pay.

 

It`s a village now becoming rare,

where life seems to pass without a care,

a place to visit once in a while

and exchange a problem for a smile.

 

B.J.Ellis