Whoop

Whoop

In the misty glade where the heather sighs,
A sudden whoop breaks the twilight air –
A call that climbs over fells and sky,
Like a stag’s proud bellow, fierce and fair.

Children on the village green whoop with glee,
Their laughter ringing off the old stone wall,
Echoing through lanes where the rain‑soaked trees
Whisper secrets to the wandering thrall.

Even the wind seems to answer back,
A soft, low whoop through the bracken’s sigh,
Turning every gust into a track
Of joy that stitches the earth to the sky.

So let us raise our voices, bright and clear,
A whoop that sings of freedom, hope, and cheer –
For in that simple, ringing sound we find
The pulse of Britain, wild and unconfined.