Here in the midst of lake and fell
where lake-land poets once did dwell,
penned their words in romantic style
I too will sit and dream a while.

Sat at the edge of mountain tarn
looking back over field and farm,
watching Merlin and Goshawks fly
on thermal winds high in the sky.

The scent of pine from forest deep
red squirrels search for nuts to keep,
native to this Cumbrian land
to watch them scurry, really grand.

So tranquil here midst lake and fell
where reds and poets do still dwell,
the only sound is natures song
this is the place that I belong.