The river waters
Take their time
Slowly meandering
Through fragrant meadows
Copse and wood
Rural idylls all
Where time stands still.
Swans use a quiet ait
As an islet sanctuary
But the quiet waters
Though slow of purpose
Have no time to dwell
And are reluctantly
Bound for the sea

Comments
Rhiannonw | August 15, 2011 - 09:14
Nice. I had to look up 'ait', got it in the second dictionary I tried! Thanks!
skinner_jennifer | August 15, 2011 - 09:28
Hi Paul,
this poem is so peaceful and tranquil, a joy
to read.
Jenny.
Biggus | August 15, 2011 - 09:43
Thank you both very much