Posted by Admin on 25 March 2008, 12:00 am
The sun is strong: his dexter side
is sharp with light: the waters glide
and prattle past – their summer song,
now changed by rock or rooted prong,
hypnotic, friendly, song of moors,
of holidays spent out of doors.
His waders test the pebbled rand,
the line obeys his practised hand:
beneath the bridge, below the weir,
no fly-inveigled trout appear;
but shadows from the bank are cool,
and peace pervades the darkling pool.
T. C. Hudson
© T. C. Hudson.
Village
Parish Council