The little grass island I call my own,
For it all belongs to me,
It lies in the place where four roads meet,
With a signpost for a tree.
Nobody needs it to build a house,
It's far too small, you see,
But there's room for daisies and
And plenty of room for me.
The cars flash by and the hay carts pass
Like ships on a long brown sea,
And the folk aboard them smile and nod
And wave their hands to me.