Summer number twenty seven
in fields of glowing Spanish heaven.
I laid my heart in golden heather
and left it here to bask forever.
‘Neath skies of blue in morning breeze
that blow in peace off turquoise seas.
Encased by windswept mountain trees
amidst the daunting Pyrenes.
In flowing fields of blooming crops
where Spanish heaven never stops.
It reaches till the Earth drops off;
past gleaming sun-stained mountaintops.
The rivers and the gushing streams
come rushing in as if from dreams,
and teem with joy and life serene;
the bluest blues; the greenest greens.
And beaches filled with sun-soaked skin
that border on edge of sin.
But purity somehow remains
on sun-drenched Spanish mountain plains.