The forlorn old river

The forlorn old running river

Driving windward, lost and found

Cockles, whelks and winkles

A riparian pastoral paradise


Is it a freshet or a brook?

Is it a rivulet or a rill?

Sandflies and mosquitoes

Flit, flutter, fluster, confound


A rainy afternoon in autumn

A frog remains cryptic

Splayed feet, webbed toes

Praying on the sessile and slow-moving


Play the panpipes as the fish jump

In my freshet, brook or rill

A hidden corner, a romantic grotto

Toads squatting in the rain


What the frogs have found

The toads have forever lost

Algae blue and algae green

Swimming and burbling, making merry and sad

©1996-present Peter Greenwell Text and images Creative Commons License
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