At the heart of England, a balance is being struck,
Perhaps a revolution, or a consequence of luck.
Meandering along a border, balancing on the brink,
Making the best of two worlds, that lie without a link.
From one angle, we see a scape of natural beauty,
A rural county we preserve through a sense of duty.
With canals that run like roots, providing little disturbance,
Bowing their beamed heads like the humblest of servants.
Protruding from the hillside, as you climb a little more,
There rests The Winking Man, who’s seen this all before.
A dusky sunset sips, as the farmers count their cattle,
‘Time to rest’ hums their old song, a working man’s joyous battle.
Elsewhere, we see a scape of modern city hubs,
The newest trends, the fastest fashion, in all the latest clubs.
Roaring attractions like Alton Towers, bring visitors from far away,
Riding the wave of the greatest thrills and desperately wanting to stay.
Arcing into the sky, your gaze searches deeper until:
There rests the famous bottle kilns, whose heritage follows us still.
A silver crescent frames the stars now, as rival football fans disperse,
Joking about the result of a game, which could’ve been much worse.
At the heart of England, a balance is being struck,
But make no mistake about it, this is no result of luck.
We are more than just a cut through to a bigger, better place,
Staffordshire should be your destination, at the end of this race.
Comments