Many, many years ago;
I put a message in a bottle,
And it floated far out to sea
To date no one has answered it ...
But perhaps, one day ... one day,
One day ... one day ... maybe.

Many, many years ago;
I aspired to achieve a dream,
And my dream it lingers still,
To date I’ve not achieved it;
But perhaps one day ... one day
One day ... one day ... one day ...
One day ... I will.

With a mentality as cold as an
Up high,
Sky spy,
Fly by,
Watch die,
Vulture ...

I just cannot abide
This blame,
Then claim,
No shame,
Blame game,
Culture …

He stared at his war medals;
As bright as when first minted,
His own lustre - long since tarnished;
Only tear-filled-eyes now glinted!

He belonged to a generation
That sacrificed it's fragile youth,
And traded it for our defence;
For freedom - and for truth.

Although a very modest man
Who accepted his war-torn lot,
He wanted the world to remember,
All the others - left to rot?

A past filled with campaigns like his,
Couldn't easily be put aside,
Though through many a tortured memory,
God only knew - how he'd tried.

Don't ever forget this brave soldier,
Who now struggles to pull on his vest,
For if you forget the alive and with medals,
You'll surely - never remember the rest!

Countless millennia of the earth’s molten core
Heaving on tectonic plates,
Have ripped continents apart
From gorge to sky,
The wonder is …
They can be bonded once again,
By a young child’s smile,
In the mere glance of an eye.

Coastline, rocky, rugged, proud,
Crumbling cliffs in ozone shroud,
Sun-kissed drifts of desert sand,
Golden frame of a sea cradled land.

Fishing village, atmospheric hub,
Brass band playing, outside quaint old pub,
Boats, all sizes, rest near harbour wall,
Wading birds sift through tide-filled pool.

Foliage explosion of a Cornish hedge,
Country lanes snake, and young birds fledge,
Ruminants, punctuating, quilted hill,
Buzzards soar and wise hares are still.

Tin mine engine house, towering stack,
Roof caved in, gorse and bracken’s back,
White clay peak, geometrical and sleek,
Earth’s riches gouged, canyon deep.

Moor-land, open, untamed, granite strewn,
Wild ponies dance to a skylark’s tune,
Tor and beacon, barrow and mound,
You’re in God’s own country, when you walk this ground.