Sunday, 24 April 2016

The Wey Navigation

Two hundred men dig far and deep and wide, 
embedding bricks from Oatlands in the base and sides,
recycling its better timber for lock after lock, 
and adding, in just two years, nine miles of direction 
to the wayward Wey, until their third spring of graft,
when the eight-blade stitchwort clusters on the banks,
meadow-edge alders explode with titmouse giddiness 
and the young gentleman paces a broad enough berth
around nesting swans where, that dandelion day, 
orange-tips pootle as the slow-running waters meet,
at Papercourt, to make his father's navigation complete.

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