lawson16 avatar


The river runs away
quicksilver over polished green;
hiccupping, twisting, splashing banks and bushes.
Swirling eddies, slowing to pools
sheltering and nurturing roach and dace
harbouring weed to provide cover;
murk to confuse pike.

The shepherd stares as his flock graze,
eyes glazed as grass is cudded.
His crook, a symptom of his age,
a seldom used appendage.

Ignoring all, downstream the water browns,
entertains the underside of branches;
seldom welcomes the sky.
Gaining speed through narrows,
dashing past anglers and twitchers,
it reaches the widening estuary,
gives up its innocence to the sea;
a place for ships and commerce.

3 comments add one below

  • avatar

    Lisa Williams over 7 years ago

    Love the use of hiccupping X

  • avatar

    Roger Noons over 7 years ago

    Thanks, Lisa. It was because of you I've joined, after I read your terrific piece on Café Lit for Christmas Eve.

  • avatar

    Lisa Williams over 7 years ago

    Oh thank you! There's a few friendly regular posters here X

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