Upstream
The bed of our stretch of the beck wasSummer shallow and swift moving.
It thought it was a brook sometimes-
A rocky pebbled frolic that tracked through
Two serf built arches.
Hemmed in by trees full of rooks
Who rasped jokes to the geese
And the ducks who laughed quite artlessly.
I babbled my way through a childhood there
With the beck beneath my window.
Tickled many sticklebacks-
Knew the holes of various voles
Watched the steady wakes of the water-rats.
Set free at the traditional seven years
I entered my personal heaven
By dreaming about upstream.
Poetry by jenks
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Written on 2008-11-08 at 22:55
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