Guide

A guide stands steady on the winding lane,
A lantern’s glow that cuts through mist and rain.
Not merely stone or sign, but quiet hand,
That points the traveler towards the promised land.

In city streets where double‑decker buses hum,
Or countryside where hedgerows softly hum,
The guide is neighbour, friend, and whispered lore,
A compass heart that asks for nothing more.

So let us walk with trust, beneath the British sky,
Following the pulse that never asks us why.
For every step we take, the guide is near—
A steady voice that says, “The way is clear.”