whitelass was where we were allowed to go when we were sensible for our ages.
there were seven tiny white bridges next to a beck.
it was never a competition
it was growing up


Whitelass

There is the first bridge
And it is white hidden
Beneath new green.

The first exploration of
My new world my new
Rules... the lenghthening
Of my apron strings... makes
Me shout about these
Seven whitelass bridges.
They are my steps to freedom.

As I look left
My Cod Beck
Above my five year
Old waterfall
Is not known to me...
It is slow moving and full of
Fallen blossoms mooching
Downstream.
Dark and thoughtful.

The cuckoo spit remains
Daintily displayed I see...
I am old enough for this!
I will look for the second
Bridge later.

How surprising is the beck...
It looks moody and dark
And sad.












Poetry by jenks The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 441 times
Written on 2010-08-31 at 01:07

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