The Far Canal
Between the buttercups and thistle,
The zephyr whispers of colder days to come.
Bright Daisies and clover,
Wild roses climbing over the hawthorn bushes like an old lover,
entwined and comfortable.
meandering waters slip by man made banks of certainty,
between the Cyprus and Popular arboreal sentinels.
the gentle ebb and flow,
of craft along these placid shores,
like ripples in a channel of time,
wafting languidly over long strands of green nymphs hair,
moving lugubriously beneath the shimmering mirror.
The Bow, waves.
Warmth of summer days,
triumphantly breaking through these clouds,
nestling amongst the nettles,
While Lark song rhapsodically stirs the air
the bees humming harmonically along,
enjoin in natures sweet song.
As i feed upon this nectar,
bolstering myself in loving unity,
a buffer of remembrance to warm this hearth,
and spike a toddy for colder days to come.
Channels of warm solitude,
half remembered in these wanton days of doubt.
tossed and turned,
my heart sits at the waters edge once more,
and dangles its toes into the cool water,
that flows between them,
gently washing away all my present woes.
These days recalled
like some handsome lover, crushed between the tousled cover.
God, and all at once,
along this far canal.