I’ve never been to land where roses bloom
As white as mountain snow in Yorkshire Dales.
I’ve never seen the home of singers, whom
I praise as minstrels of forgotten tales.
Thou art for me a harsh and unknown land
Where wind and rain unite in swirling dance
O Yorkshire, I am thy long-distance friend,
Adoring spirit of the Northern plains.
But when the continental winter threatens me,
I breathe thy greetings from a steamy cup.
It’s filled with balmy fragrance of the tea
That cures my heart from spleen and warms me up.
No honey and no sugar do I need
Because the drink of gods is always sweet.
2020
