These roses faded long ago
Along this country lane
And I know I'll never pass that way
And see that scene again.
But the little lanes of Letheringham
Still linger in my mind,
And the cottages grow dearer still
With each passing year, I find.
We stayed a while in Letheringham
Maybe ten years ago.
The cottages were very old;
The pace of life was slow.
Life wasn't too convenient;
The 'mod cons' weren't the best;
It was dreary when the rain came down,
And we weren't too impressed.
But, as years have passed, my memories
Have blotted out the rain
And focussed on the timelessness
Of that little English lane.
Old age is a sentimental time.
As many a rhyme discloses
And I often think of Letheringham
And rioting red roses.
Another red rose here: