Where hedgerows across distance did once unfold
Where the teeth and claw and orchids grew
And was the earth so verdant and burnished gold
And the meadow diamond with the morning dew
And did the circus weightless flight
Did it adorn these skies with woven grace?
And was this land in dawn’s fair light,
A wild and breathless dwelling place?
So, bring me no tools of steel and fire,
No factory seed, no burning plough.
Bring me the heart’s old, fierce desire
To tend the earth with gentle vow.
Bring me the songs that the rivers knew,
The woodland’s hushed moon-soaked lullaby.
Bring me the hope, the rains, the dew,
The ascending flight of a summer sky.
Let the moss reclaim the stone,
Let the dog rose entwine the rusting gate
Because the land remembers all of those that it's known,
And patiently it lies in wait.
So, in the future may we walk with feet of lighter tread,
And mark the Curlew’s returning song.
And let not our natures need be those of dread,
But woven through each and everyone.
For every hedge the hawthorn weaves,
Each bluebell born of majesty and rain,
Still offers us, through gleaming leaf,
A path back home to the wild again.
So let the moss reclaim that stone,
Let the dog rose entwine that rusting gate
Because the land remembers all of those that it's known,
And patiently it lies in wait.
