Flying Over Britain
England is a parlor puzzle
Of many small pieces,
Alike but not the same:
Green bits of farm and forest,
Worn brick towns and agéd hills,
Rivers winding gently, gently --
Man and Nature in blest accord.
Enter Scotland, obscured by mist,
A wild beauty rarely glimpsed
Through tattered clouds:
Rivers rushing swiftly, swiftly --
Wind and Sea in might adorned.