Journeys End.

 

 

The stream meanders to and fro.

Here where the cattle come to drink

the yellow cowslips gaily grow.

 

The weeping willows stooping low

adorn the banks on either side.

The stream continues in its flow.

 

Past meadows where the cattle graze

and fields where corn is ripening

but here and there red poppies blaze.

 

The stream now to a river grown

now deep and wide; it gathers strength

Its purpose to itself unknown.

 

 

Past cottages which stand alone.

Small villages and market towns

and bridges built of weathered stone.

 

It has become a thoroughfare

which slices through the city's heart

With rush and bustle everywhere.

 

The docks and quays and factories

confine the river in its course.

There is no grass there are no trees.

 

The river flows on turgidly

until at last it gains release

and flows into the open sea.

 

But in the distance still the stream

meanders gently to and fro

Where cowslips nod and lovers dream.

 

 

 

21-Aug-07