River Wye Weekend
You came in a beat up old blue Landie
with tales of sleeping giants on your lips.
It was your first night in the cottage
when the Wye was skipping over stones,
dividing the spiked water milfoil
with sacred Pumlumon Fawr sunk into the sunset.
We watched a heron draggle
in and out of the water crowfoot beds,
trusted we’d see muntjac or wild boar tomorrow.
Look, there’s a kingfisher, jewelled above the otter’s holt
and later a dipper, teeter-totter,
near the yellow-cress.
Watching frogs collared by ripples
we wish for a grass snake or polecat.
Skipping past horse-tail and great willowherb
you trace the sand martins with your miniature fingertips
while I collect peppery chives from the bedrock
and turn my once carefree soul to my stomach.
from 'Scratching The Surface' 2019
https://amzn.to/32GSMGl
Copyright © Dave Lewis | Year Posted 2020
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