I used to love coming here,

On the other side of the hill,

Where I used to stand,

Picking bright yellow daffodils.

Diving and dancing,

The sun rises up behind the trees,

Up and down lambs prancing,

And along drifts the spring breeze,

Diving and dancing,

The spiders weave,

Their cobwebs glistening,

Grey and metallic in the spring breeze.

Diving and dancing,

Destruction is all that is here now,

Excavation trucks storming and advancing,

Nothing is left, how?

Flowers infect the meadow,

Pinks, yellows and reds,

Splitting the middle is where the water boatman flow,

On the other side a duck lays its eggs.

I used to love coming here.