Over The Hill

What is over the hill, I've always wondered and I wonder still. Are there fields of meadows sweet, Or forests for the eye to greet, Are there cottages and farms, All so quaint with country charms. Or are there seas and sandy coves, Lofty cliffs and sheep in droves, Lakes with water gleaming bright, Willows weeping at the sight. Could there be a river wide, With boats all moored along each side, Or a canal which peacefully meanders, Past boathouses with their verandas. Perhaps there is a town of people, A large stone church with bell and steeple, Lots of traffic on the go, People rushing to and fro. Maybe there are valleys to discover, With wonderful birds like the wagtail and plover, Sparrowhawks and buzzards too, All these would be splendid to view. There might be a mansion great, Built within a large estate, With room to fish and hunt and shoot, Such a lifestyle would be a hoot. But it may not be greener over the hill, We always think maybe it will, We are left to guess at what things might have been, And all we can do is imagine the scene. But perhaps we are happier where we are, And not to let all our wild thoughts mar, What we already have, which is pretty okay, I think you'd agree, what do you say?