As the morning sun kisses the English moor,
Whispers of the dawn begin to soar.
Gentle winds weave through ancient stone,
Telling tales of lands once known.

In the heart of villages, old and quaint,
Echoes of history, whispers faint.
Cobblestone paths lead to the past,
Where stories of yore forever last.

Beneath the shade of the grand oak tree,
Secrets of the land are wild and free.
Rivers murmur songs of days gone by,
Under the vast and open sky.

In every corner, a tale to tell,
Of love and loss, of rise and fell.
The English dawn, a poem in light,
Painting the world in colors bright.