There is a fine country boy,
Living in a big old town.
But living not a happy life,
He often lives with a frown.
His heart goes back to the countryside,
Where the vehicles and wagons are few.
Where the early sun rises between the mountains,
And there is water on trees as drops of dew.
He wants to go back to the place,
Where there would be mountains of golden hay,
He remembers of how in the late afternoon,
Reading a book, on the heaps he would lay.
Later in the windy evenings,
He would watch the river flow.
He would see the different fishes,
Swimming merrily down below.
Always are the birds singing a song,
To which there are the dancing trees.
The countryside is such a place,
There is calmness, joy and peace.
He thought of his farm and country house,
Right beside the dense, green wood,
Watching the rabbits run back and forth,
The grassy land was where he stood.
There were butterflies flying over the flowers,
The yellow bees buzzing around,
The tulips and sweet pea blooming,
Forever soothing to the ears, the spring-time nature's sound.
No more did he want to be away from home,
He rose to go to the place where he felt blest,
And started on a journey for miles and miles,
Back to his home ; for the place he left.
Спасибо за чтение!