By the English islands and the sea,
Unto wither, no vessel hath ever flee,
Doth rest a curious piece of land,
With hills, forests and shores of sand.
A half-sunken ship, a torn sail,
All these dost lie by the rocks pale;
Did strand by a storm ferocious enough,
To dost scare a heart, valiant and tough.
Under the dense cover of green,
Art the streams with sweet freshwater, clean;
As they dost descend, with a gentle sound,
Doing so quench the thirst of the weary forest hounds,
The water doth explore the woods uphill,
Flowing gracefully, at its own will.
The evening robins, all doing perch on trees,
And herons doing prey fish, with crooked knees,
The larks doing sing to the top of their voice,
And the sea splashes on the shores, doing create noise;
All these pleasurable melodies art difficult to find,
But dost reside hither, did undisturbed by humankind.
~Dhruv Pandey |Edited by Afreen Zeb
Image source: pixabay.com