Through the ragged-rock-falls

the young river

tumbles from one foaming chasm

to the next;

below the racing rapids;

the waters slow and settle

into a lovely, scalloped pool

lazy and deep;

there are vestiges of an old ford crossing

overhung by lichen and be-mossed oaks

with grassy banks, bilberry thick;

from high above the narrow valley

the shadows of great kites

shaft against steep-wooded heights

and hazy, bluebell-smothered slopes.

While the immemorial song of the river

chants with the call of bird,

and the the winds own paeon

shimmering through the air.

 

On the opposite bank, tously with

ash and alder, hawthorn and hazel

adjoining a small rush-meadow

I became aware of a figure.

Watching me.

 

It was faun-like, upright on two-legs,

 hoofed and hairy.

What do you do? was the question.

‘I look after others. And what about you?’

I look after this place, came the reply

gesturing to the rocky glen,

it’s creatures, elements and lush green.

 

Carers all.