RIVER VIEW
By Peter Woodgate
On the little wooden bridge
that spans the river
I used to sit with bread, and
net, and jar.
The fish I caught were small,
just sticklebacks
but in my world I really
didn’t care.
Of course, I had some
disappointments,
days when I was out of luck,
I then would turn my
thoughts, to other things
and use the bread to feed a
coot or duck.
The river, then, was
peaceful, as it flowed
through banks of willow herb
and celandine,
and as I sat there in those
halcyon days
the sun shone endlessly upon
the scene.
I visit still that little
bridge that stands
defiantly against “old times”
decay,
my eyes will keenly seek,
those visions of the past
But focus only on scenes of
dismay.
For looking back at that,
which I perceived,
as pleasing, despite my
youthful folly,
it was much better then than
what is now on view,
a bicycle wheel and
supermarket trolley.
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Very nice poem with a good rhythm. Sad though. Folk say we view the past through rose coloured glasses, and maybe we do. But evidence of man's neglect is clearly visible.
ReplyDeleteYour a Historian amongst your many talents. Your observations of then and now, perfectly penned in perfect pro's. An excellent piece SPARTACUS!
ReplyDeleteNicely crafted Peter. I too remember those times.
ReplyDelete