A River

It starts with a trickle way up in a hill
Just a small drop little more than a rill
It seeks out the gulleys and cracks in the ground
And begins its long journey all the way down.

There is a short distance where it goes underground
And listening quite closely one can hear the sound
Of the loud rushing sound as one stream joins another
It’s much larger now as it bursts from its cover.

Down it keeps tumbling still fairly small
Till it drops from a cliff in a long waterfall
Where it now joins a much bigger stream and together
They race for the sea as they go hell for leather.

After a few miles the pace slows right down
As the river encircles the outskirts of town
There are men dipping fishing rods hoping for bounty
That flows with this river, the pride of the county.

Miles further on the river seems to stop
There’s a very sharp bend and a deep hillside drop
But after the bend it gets off on its way
Nothing else holds up its progress today.

Other streams will join it as it quickens its pace
Smaller rivers too will join in the race
The mighty thing grows as it travels along
Sometimes it sounds like it’s singing a song.

There’s a very high bridge that carries the trains
That travel along on the networks veins
It has several arches that lift the bridge high
And the river flows through them as it passes on by.

A family of swans with their heads all held high
Their necks long and slender reach up to the sky
They swim along gaily and some ducks join them too
But they stop sometime later as there’s nesting to do.

There’s a place miles along where it goes through the sky
Borne on an aquaduct that creaks with a sigh
Where underneath lorries carry freight to the ports
Vying for space with cars and vans of all sorts.

Many more bridges will it pass on its way
And more roads will cross it in every which way
Till finally the river arrives at the coast
Suddenly small by a much greater host.

In the estuary the river meets up with the sea
When the weather is stormy they crash forcefully
And back in the hills many miles far away
A small drop of water starts the journey again.

©JRW2014

A Trip to the Seaside

The old and now empty railway track
Where iron horses will never come back
Carried trains along it on two four four
Driving along to the Welsh sea shore.

Children would travel with bucket and spade
Later to wonder at castles they’d made
While Mum and Dad with bags by three
Wondered if they’d brought enough for tea.

From Stafford station they pulled away
Stopping at Newport along the way
Then Shrewsbury town and Machynlleth too
Stopping at Barmouth just after two.

Passengers piled out in their droves
Most of them looking for shallow coves
Mums carrying babies who’d often screech
Heading for quiet spots left on the beach.

To Mum and Dad it was a well earned rest
From their working days and household stress
And the joy of seeing children have such fun
It meant the holidays had begun.

Some days later, maybe three or four
Passengers waited by carriage doors
And back to their homes they all would go
With tales to tell to folks they know.

And as they journeyed East again
Saying goodbyes to holiday friends
They felt refreshed and enjoyed the ride
As the train sped away from the wild Welsh tide.

©JRW2014