It is where I went,
when the pubs closed.

Just by the bridge was
weir, noisy, but I tolerated
the river in all her moods.

At least, while the effects
of the Guinness lingered.

There, was a sense of freedom,
something I never possessed.

Even the driftwood was going
somewhere and I not capable
of going home.

White swans came by when the
town slept, cautiously moving
on the still pools at the opposite
bank.

Envious of such serenity,
I questioned, their reason,
for coming up the Blackwater,
when the pubs closed!