Г-Жа Зауре Набиевна — England Hold The Ones Who Wander

You left your coat beside the door while rain wrote silver on the glass.
The old church clock was keeping score of every quiet hour that passed.
Beyond the hedges, fields ran wide.
A rook crossed over the morning tide.
England, hold the ones who wander.
Keep a place beside the fire.
Through the green and gray of distance, you are still the heart's desire.
From the chalk cliffs to the orchard, from the moorland to the sea.
England, all the roads I follow lead your weather back to me.
A red bus sighed along the lane, past gardens bright with foxglove bells.
The station smelled of tea and rain and all the goodbyes we know too well.
The fields leaned softly into dusk.
The evening air was time and dust.
England, hold the ones who wander.
Keep a place beside the fire.
Through the green and gray of distance, you are still the heart's desire.
From the chalk cliffs to the orchard, from the moorland to the sea.
England, all the roads I follow lead your weather back to me.
And if I reach a farther shore, where unfamiliar gulls cry out.
I'll hear your rain against the door
and know what home is all about.
England, hold the ones who wander.
Keep a place beside the fire.
Through the green and gray of distance, you are still the heart's desire.
From the chalk cliffs to the orchard, from the moorland to the sea.
England, every road I travel keeps a little room for thee.
The old church clock,
the hedgerow bend.
The rain, the road,
the way back home.