Our footsteps o'er the Doggerland,

chased retreating ice and snow,

left us breathing high and dry,

Land's End to Scapa Flow.

The seeds of Albion, wind-blown

free, scattered to the moors,

dormant beneath the the soggy heath

where stouter oaks will grow.

All across the Doggerland

All across before the tides

Across with boar and elk and wolves

Take the high lands near and wide

Strike with rock and flint and

bone, follow trail and hoof.

Onwards to another place, a place to raise a roof.

And these four walls to shelter

us upon this blessed plot:

This earth, this realm, this England

- island, alone, aloof.

All across the Doggerland

All across before the tides

Across with boar and elk and wolves

Take the high lands near and wide

Back across the Doggerland, Costa villa overkill.

Warm farmhouses in Tuscany

challenge Winter's will.

We pensionable, geriatric,

sun-creased wrinklies long

for this earth, this realm, this

England, a burial ground to fill.

All across the Doggerland

All across before the tides

Across with luggage, kids and sunscreen

Melted mortgage, dreams that died

All across the Doggerland

All across before the tides

Across with boar and elk and wolves

Take the high lands near and wide