Beneath Blue Skies
J
Jayne Louise Davies
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Where the wild flowers grow,
Near the old dry stone wall,
By the clear babbling brook,
I hear a bird call,
On the lovely oak tree,
He sings out his song,
So happy is he,
As I walk along.
Neath the glow of the sun,
I'm feeling quite proud,
Of this valley of mine,
There isn't a cloud,
In the bluest of skies,
There's no better place,
With a deep warmth inside,
And the sun on my face.
Jayne Louise Davies
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