Whizzing along in the Jag,
Windows open wide,
Swooshing down hill,
Like the last of the swallows,
Smelling the heat outside,
Over the Wolds we go,
And there, spread out below,
Almost too beautiful sight,
Limestone and pantile delight,
Hovingham basking in afternoon light.
Scented and shimmering haze,
Hay bales and cattle which gaze,
At visitors watching them graze.
Then up to Helmsley we fly,
Indigo car under cobalt blue sky,
To this pretty and trippery place,
To find a parking place,
Then hike past the castle and over to Riveaulx,
Steep stony steps, forcing a go slow,
Romantic ruin reflecting the last glow,
Of this glorious high summer day,
Up on the Wolds way.
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