The place that I live, in the heart of the Shires;
they call it God's country; this County of mine.
With rolling green pastures, and wind-swept high Wolds
all scattered with sheep, and forgotten by time.
A child could not wish for a happier place
to play, and to grow... to learn about living;
to romp in the cornfields on bright summer days,
and, rather than take... find more pleasure in giving.

This is how I was taught in those innocent days
where all were accepted... and none preconceived;
but, then I grew up... and those values were crushed,
but...
I still hold to the truths I believed.
Why, are there more words used for hatred, and envy,
than ever there are used for tolerance, and joy?
Don't reach for the Prozac... just walk through my memories...
experience that, which I had, as a boy.

My Grandfather taught me that we are all equal
in birth, life, and death... we are all just the same,
"Shrouds have no pockets"... he said, as I listened,
"It's all down to you... and how you play the game.
And what you will do with the time you are given
is how they'll remember you, boy... have no fear."
and, sucking his pipe; he said,
"Always remember, to just leave them smiling...
and not shedding tears."

Now and again, I return to those high Wolds,
and wander through meadows where I used to play;
remembering words that my Grandfather taught me...
remembering cornfields on hot summer days.
I hope that I've followed the truths that he taught me...
his countryman morals that never efface;
and, if by his words, you should find some contentment...
perhaps, this world might be a much nicer place.