Yorkshire Day

Where morning mists embrace the moor,
And ancient walls recall their lore,
Where abbeys sleep beneath the sky,
And curlews sing as seasons fly.

From Dales of green to rugged shore,
Each winding lane tells something more.
The heather blooms in royal hue,
While timeless winds blow fresh and true.

The White Rose lifts against the blue,
A quiet badge for hearts so true.
No boast is needed, loud or grand—
Just honest folk and steady hand.

From Sheffield's steel to Whitby's tide,
From York's great Minster standing proud,
To market towns where laughter grows,
And every village history knows.

The mills may rest, the mines be still,
Yet Yorkshire's spirit climbs each hill.
It lives in voices warm and clear,
In every welcome, every cheer.

It's found in puddings, Sunday roast,
A proper brew, a generous host.
In "Ey up!" shared with passing friends,
Where every stranger soon belongs.

Though life may lead us far away,
Across the seas, through work and day,
The county never leaves the soul—
Its fields and fells still make us whole.

For home is more than earth and stone;
It's every seed that's ever grown,
It's childhood's path, the church bell's chime,
The place that shapes the heart through time.

So on this Yorkshire Day we stand,
With grateful heart and open hand,
To raise a glass, to proudly say:

Here's to Yorkshire—strong yet kind,
Rich in history, heart, and mind.
May White Rose bloom through every year,
Forever held both far and near.

And should the world ask where we roam,
We'll smile and answer, full of pride:

"I've travelled far...
but Yorkshire will always be home."