Down Hobs Hole Lane

September sun down Hobs Hole Lane, The combine reaps the golden grain, That waves in fields Now harvest yields From autumn's countryside, I see the old sweet chestnut tree, And all the hedgerows wild and free, So still the air The day so fair I wander far and wide. Skies of blue down Hobs Hole Lane, The beauty there shall never wane, The berries fine And so divine The view across the land, Through the gateway I do peer, And see the sight of morning clear, The trees still green And so serene All painted by God's hand. As I walk down Hobs Hole Lane, Where long forgotten days remain, It winds and falls A song thrush calls Then gracefully does fly, I make my way past Nuttall's Farm, With a sense of peace and calm, The horses graze I stop and gaze And then I walk on by. At the end of Hobs Hole Lane, It's time to go back once again, The coppice fine As light does shine Upon the narrow way, And I begin the journey home, And through the woodland trees I roam, As sun does fade I'm cast in shade The ending of the day.