Lake Formation

Canoes strung in shape
of a Spanish Fan unfurled
cool down summer’s air

Freedom

Cast out from lake, rushing over the weir
The Vyrnwy runs pure and crystal clear
Where oak stands tall and the ash leans o’er
Deepened soul of water here runs slower

Bathing the stones, washing their face
Smoothing the pebbles in sculptured space
As on it travels tween depths of green
With rippled sound and peace pristine