by The Old 'Un, 10 June, 2006
Over quiet water, brook,
Was built a sleeper span.
To carry crop filled truck
And common labouring man.
Where the quiet water’s yield,
A brighter view, and sweeter smell,
Winding o’er the cowslip fields,
As clear as any drinking well.
Beneath the quiet water brook
The stickleback is seen to bite
Upon the tadpole - legless took
And downed in loosing fight.
The Moorhen flies in hunger search
With plunging, underwater dive
Bringing fish up to her perch
To swallow down alive.
In the quiet water brook
The legs of boys do make
A watery trek to take a look
For an ancient, pirate lake.
The water soon is deeper
Rising way above the half
Of youthful striding shins
Squeezing boot to wading calf.
Upon the quiet water brook
Float twigs and leaves and straw.
And feathers from an eider duck
Who’s nest was ragged once more.
Flotsam and jetsam floats
From people without names
Overtaken by paper boats
Made for water racing games.
Runs the quiet water brook
From the pool of Haydon’s mill
Where she twists around the crook
To wend her way at will.
She passes Jimmy Strange’s -
On through the Loveridge ground
And across the Paxford ranges
Where she flows without a sound.
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