Love Went Back To Wallingford Bridge
Love went back to Wallingford bridge;
rowed a skiff upon a dreamer's dream,
upstream, to drowsy Day's Lock.
Like small boys fishing,
drawn by the hungry thought
of a mother's kitchen, it returned.
It crossed an iron-arched bridge;
gazed down upon the cruising carp
as they peacefully patrolled
the periphery of eternal lily pads.
Strolling the whispering, summer lanes
of sleepy Little Wittenham,
it paid homage to Saint Peter's church;
then climbed The Clumps.
And there, on a tartan blanket,
it dined on salad sandwiches and passion.
Bare feet jumped, and laughed
to the prick of shadowed pine needles;
then love lay down.
And there, where the silvery Thames
snakes up to Abingdon,
it will ever be found.
Copyright © Jonathan French | Year Posted 2017