Little Stream

Little stream, little stream,
where do you roam,
from the springs and the rivulets,
of your Hampshire home.


I roam from the moors,
and down from the hills,
I roam through the pastures,
to power the mills.


Through twisted roots,
at my waters side,
to join with the saline,
and make her my bride.


I race under bridges,
and past singing yachts,
lapping the quaysides,
with stacked lobster pots.


Out into the sea,
I don my blue robe,
to carry mans shipping,
across the wide globe.


Little man, little man,
that's where I roam,
from the springs and the rivulets,
of my Hampshire home.