The Green, Green Grass of Wales

The land of the finest song,

Where birds only sing the first note

And Charlotte Church the second.

And even though you are tone-deaf; in this land

You’ll be singing whilst you sleep

And whistling while you work!

(Lets not forget the humming through the ironing.

Obviously).

For there’s a song for everyone, in this land,

A tune for the rich, and a jingle for the poor,

(And a melody for the Mr. Williams in between).

Whether Clapton’s your tune,

Or the home-grown Tom Jones.

Whoever you like, whatever it is,

You can belt your heart out here,

In the green, green grass of home

And nobody would ever complain.

For Wales, my dear, is indeed the Land,

Where song can run free.

For Wales, my darling,

Is the only place in this world these days,

Where a voice like mine can sing.

And not have the neighbours knocking on the wall

Telling me what an, erm…

Fantastic voice I have!

Carrie

A/N: Goes against everything I have ever said a good poem should have! But, I think I actually like it, so I thought I’d cause pain and suffering to all you out there. Please review if you are actually reading this.

(I think I may have just eaten too much chocolate. Either way, things are looking up!)