Fire, food, friends, fortune

Is not the things you possess

But the things you share

Reeds whisper when blown

Let the current take me home

The heron has flown

Time cannot be made

Can’t beg, borrow, steal or save

Ticking to the grave

Ripples on the stream

Where to paddle is to dream

We make our own steam

Life is made of days

Though they all must pass away

Make memories stay

Tarmac rivers flow

With noisy choking splutter

Buried in culverts

Rising from the swamp

Ancient hawthorn still clings on

Waiting for no one

Between joyous shrieks

Frogs leap across busy creeks

Silence slowly sleeps

With the marshes drained

And every mystery explained

Where does magic lay?

A fork in the road

Though petals cover the path

We simply follow

Inquisitive spy

Waiting for bugs to surprise

Before the mole tries

Wash me clear and clean

In rising fresh water streams

You fill up my dreams