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:
Rough-hewn Highlands,
Storm-lashed islands,
Rivers rushing swiftly, swiftly --
Wind and Sea in might adorned.