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I went awalking one summer's day,
Along the paths and through the hay.
The corn was ripening a golden brown;
How nice to be away from town.
To be away from smoke and dust,
Away from streets where any gust
Of wind would pipe your eyes
And where every room is full of flies.
How nice to be away from town
How nice to be away.
I left the corn and hay behind and on the river's brink
I idly threw some little stones and idly watched them sink.
The minnows fanned in and out, in and out of the lofty and reeds
But, I continued my little walk to pick some poppy seeds.
My way was through the woods; and down a mountain track
And just to get the poppy seeds,
The poppy seeds I lack.
Down the track beside the lake
Picking daisies, a chain to make.
Through the ferns and over a wall
And there stand the poppies red and tall.
Whilst plucking the poppies tall and grand;
Against the sky a tall stag stands,
Larks are twittering up on high;
A field mouse quickly scurries by.
Then when my bag is full of seeds
I turn towards the path that leads
Towards my homestead so cool and white,
Back to my room with bed so slight
Where I shall in great peace lie,
A place to dream of days gone by,
I lie and dream but, then a fly
Reminds me of the town where I
Used to live, but ne'er to die.
How nice to be away from town,
How nice to be away.

Copyright © 2001, Peter Strudwick

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