Ramblings of a Lowly Traveller.
Rolling away, strolling aside,
Sleepy contradictions drenched in gold.
An image taken, picture saved,
A tiny tribute of memory to hold.
My England. For you are mine,
And not mine. Everyone's Never.
For once would you show me shine?
A prize that I will love forever.
At the fading of the day. Twighlight.
You tend towards a deeper hue,
But I sense and behold this place,
My England, the night of you.
But why do I love you? So dear.
My fickle, boastful friend.
From sun up to sunset. The day.
Then till your night greets its end.
I cannot fathom my patriotic pride,
Yet, you simmer in the half light,
Tearing love from my insides.
To me, all flaws, out of sight.
Smokey skies. Low Fade. Soft shade.
Echoes of pastimes, inherent to history.
Night screen. Moon sheen casts on,
My starry land of mystery.
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