We are sprites

We are sprites

Splashing together

In the ice-cold water

The brook pops and jumps

Jiggles and giggles.

Skipping over the slippery rocks

The sharp-edged slate

The powdered chalk

It is timeless

Just for the moment

It takes to register the bliss

Nothing ever lasts

An idyll barely exists

Outside of a romantic interlude

As the fall continues

The beck flows

Under the railway line

Beneath the road

Bisecting an ancient field

Where farmers bale hay

Next to circles of standing stones

The old Roman bridge

Has seen a legion

Of better days

The torrent fills with floaters

Soggy leaves

An old red shoe

Pooh sticks for nere-do-wells

Some say it disappears

Into the nether world

But it is likely to continue

Rolling beneath the city

In a roiling gush

As does the Fleet

In London

Where the gutter press grew

To stink the place out

And the Thames runs thick

With the festering ooze of yesterday's news

Nothing makes up for the loss

Or the fresh bounce

The sharp bite

The clean taste

Of mountain dew

In early spring

But there is comfort

In its memory.