Perception

The sun, the sea, the ocean's tide,
the wind, the rain at month's abide.
The meadows, the grass, the season's breeze,
the sand, the bridges and Willow's trees.

The day the rain will touch my face,
I'll suddenly know I found my place.
Between the accents, near and far,
a land of royalty is what they are.

Stones of mystery come to pass,
rumored magic is there alass.
Westminster lies before the law,
the royal court there to withdraw.

I sigh for I know in the end,
there's no way to make a stand.
And once that summer fades to fall,
the land of Angles is what will call.

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