• Hugh Loxdale

Land of our Birth

Land of our birth,

The beautiful blue-green Earth,

Floating like a jewel in dark endless space,

But to us, our home, our heavenly place.

Where dolphins leap in turquoise seas

And gaudy butterflies do what they please,

Birds of iridescent plume

Sing bright notes through the woodland gloom…

As sunlit shafts cut the mist,

Where tree trunks rot and fungi resist

That view of permanence…

Yet even so persist.

Bees travel from flower to flower

During each and every sunlit hour,

And leaves absorb that precious gift

Of light and purest air,

Their branches upwards they do uplift.

And meanwhile, the old silvery Moon,

Full ripe and fancy free,

Stares down as it has always done…

Upon tranquil hills and valleys,

Streams and rivulets,

Coasts, plain and forest too –

Where dappled tigers still roam…

As they prefer to do.

Confirming that this place,

For which there is no price,

Indeed, has worth…

And that we should think well of her….

And thus treat her kindly…

Our unique, most lovely


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