Tears of the Golden Willow fall
like tresses of a mythological Goddess,
cascading in a unbroken, quivering stream
to the dark underworld far below
where Sedges erupt, dwarf like
trolls with heavy metal hair ‘we are trolls,
fol-dee-rol, we are trolls, fol-dee-rol,
we are trolls fol-dee-rol-dee-rullee.’
Brambles squirm along the far bank,
like Medusa’s hair, entangling and
penetrating the undergrowth, as stone
sculptures sit rooted on the towpath
while moving targets of darting swallows
bounce like skimming stones, across
the canals unbroken surface, feasting
on ‘ghosts’ of gnats.
Logs float like lazy Nile crocodiles
as the ‘Flying Tortoise’ trundles by
disturbing the Mulligatawny water
for the briefest time…
