The place is unique
The air is clean
The land is flat
And at times it seems serene
Dykes crisscross The Fens
Carrying water to crops
That grow in abundance
And build up the nations food stocks
Abbeys, monasteries and cathedrals
Sit on islands of clay
Casting their shadow across The Fens
Night after night, day after day
In The Fens time seems to stand still
It van be a place of magic
Where man will always be second
And to tamper with it more would be tragic.