Washbrooke's Web

The River OR Hackney Marsh
Sunlit waters, slowly drifting;

Drooping willows, shadows shifting

On the surface of the stream,

And, far below, a sudden gleam

Of halcyon skies, caught in a net

Of twisted weeds. Round pebbles wet

Wink palely in the shafted light.

A sailing leaf, in fearful flight,

Darts swiftly down the current black

- While close behind it tangled wrack

And floating flotsam, like a ridge

Of oil clad debris, hits the bridge

And fretting, jerking, comes to pause

Held by the stanchion's wooden jaws.

A wheeling whirring dragonfly

Swooping downward from on high

Is trapped in the water's green silk thread;

His long wings, frantic, flattening, shed

Crystalline dimples far and wide.

Vainly he tries to fight the tide.

A daisy, like a sailor elf,

Goes journeying gaily by itself;

Past the bridge and away beyond

To reach, at last, some distant pond.

Beside the bank are chunky rocks

Where nettles grow and broad leafed docks;

A circling pool of darkening deep

Where water beetles crawl and creep,

Spiders scuttle and minnows swim,

And the leaf-like leech is hid in the dim

Silent recesses of the clay,

Where the gurgling eddies die away

Awed by the stillness, green and brown.

Turning and twisting, hurrying down

The bend, a rounded rusted can

Shaped like a lantern from Japan,

Half submerged and half afloat,

Comes bobbing, like a ferry boat

Of strange design - a goblin craft

Straining onward, as if it chafed

At the hidden hands of an elfin crew.

It passes so, and is lost to view......

Betty Mates, 1941

 

Home    Genealogy    Poetry    Naturism    Links

Dave & Bet    Parents    Grandparents    Great Grandparents

Last updated 19th February 2005 by Dave Washbrooke