Ashford in the Water
Daughter of somewhere on close to heaven
Under blue skies
Beside trickling streams
Sweet soulful music with a banjo
Plucked in time to the sound of the rivulet
This water flows
Along the floor of the valley
Past the doors of grand houses
And the pensioners terraced cottages
In full view of the old man in his smart suit
His dear proud lady looking serene and smiling
Who would know
Of their trials and tribulations, their summers
Their winters, the autumns of their discontent
As they stroll among the illusion of contentment
Confused by not knowing
What their future holds, or for how long
In the chapel at evensong, or on the cricket field
Mown these past few mornings
Embroidered with a loving artisan’s touch
Can you hear the trickle of fresh water
Filling up the jugs of squash, to be served
With cold cucumber sandwiches and fresh salmon
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