Sunday, 31 July 2011
A touch of peace
The ripple of water in the sun
The twinkle of light on wet stone,
Soft whisper as the ripples run
Where ever they want to roam.
Be it brook or stream or rill,
Thro woodland or open weald
And paddles of an old water mill
Such peace you could ever feel.
This peace remains intact
Till the seasons turn a page
And Winter performs its act
Causing angry waters to rage.
It is a cleansing process
The frost, the ice and the snow
Ready to don the new green dress
For the start of the Spring time show.