Go where white horses lay
on green blanket down
hear young men tell tales
of old Marlborough town.

Run where country girls stay
we’re resting our heels
near riverbank’s bend
with spin in our reels.

Skip past bullrush and sway
where hill winds come
alive to our ways
in fields we roam,

And this, becomes our home.

This entry was posted on Monday, March 12th, 2007 at 11:15 pm and is filed under Nature, Lyrics.