On a visit to Lincolnshire yesterday
Driving through to Lincoln
We watched a low thin fog covering.
Through mist the trees took on
A silhouette look, bloody beautiful.
I wrote this quick poem..
Snowdrops at Bridgewater.
Across that area of open land
Early morning viewers are rewarded
The misty milk lays soft and low
Transforming today’s feat of Eden.
A ghostly look, the eye can only see
when casting their field of vision
silhouettes of beech leafless trees
submerged inside liquid cloud.
The river flows it yearly trek
through Bridgewater and beyond
over centuries old stone and grade
meandering a wanderer’s path.
Rabbit, Hare, Duck and Geese
all drink from it’s ice cold life force
Bird and Bear, Fish and Fowl
take a seat at it’s breakfast table.
Along her banks a florist of flower
the signal for this time of year
a carpet of white laid all around
Snowdrops in their hundreds of
Thousands.
Norman.