Cornish cream

My home it lies in the deep South west
Gods country, now lets take a manifest  
A peninsular, its toe and foot in atlantics swell    
White clay, that turns upon the potters wheel    
Fine paper without its body has no feel    
The schools of art at their easel's    
Lit scenes, spectacular in coast and field      
Stannary towns and cities where fortunes out of TIN were made    
 The imprint that they left, to antiquate    
Mines worked out and left to flood  
A legacy of industry that non can ever grub   
 On top the engine house, its chimney  soars    
Proudly stands aloft, not the tip of coals black spoil    
On the cliff above the beach, inhabited now      
A film crew, "Ploldark" the romantic lead with bronzed torso    
As rugged as the scenery, wild as the beast of Bodmin moor    
The surf it breaks on the north coast shores    
World champions sparkle on their long boards    
The first steam engine that ran on wheels      
At Camborne's great fare, its replica appears    
I sit and eat my lunch    
Like miners sat in the dark and stench    
A pasty, filled like my county
Its beauty ever haunting me     
With tasty things all meant to please
And now we have lithium beneath our feet
ay me ansom, cream to charge the batteries