The Mill Race

The redundant mill-race mirror smooth  
slides passed toward' the twisted wheel,  
paddles limp lose and rotting  
the gates open, water wasting by  
tumbling to the river.  
Willow, reeds and cygnets,  
kingfishers skim the silent stream  
gliding passed as we sit,  
flashing reds and blues  
catching fish for supper  
before the setting sun,  
the dreaming day now closing.  
doves, cooing love to all who listen  
comes out to say goodnight,  
so we leave the dewy grass  
to the frogs and snails  
the mill stream to the fish.