The banks are beginning to crumble
sand dribbles through thick roots
tiny fish hiding amongst the growth
and yellow flashes on the new shoots
The bull rushes stand guard
tall, ***** like soldiers in a row
the Ash and the Elm sway in the wind
sheltering the bluebells that grow
Eels slither like ribbons in the wind
The otter decides to take a morning dip
There's an old apple tree somewhere
Fallen apples decay and leave many a pip
to sink slowly and root in the unlikely place
the sun beats down from an azure sky
the fisherman unstable against the bank
his stool wobbling as he eats his pork pie
The fish munch away at his bait
the line pulls tight and he reels the line
the fish unaware of his fate
the bull rushes salute and call time.