TAMWORTH POEMS: BY A BROOK IN MARCH

BY A BROOK IN MARCH

Our micro-spiked boots crunch

On the icy trampled-down snow

As we scramble over the drift

Thrown up by the highway plow.

We’re next to the Wonalancet

Brook which feeds the Swift.

Today it’s flowing handsomely,

So close to the coming of spring,

Around and between its rocks

And logs, all whitely domed,

All smoothly frosted, silent

Except where it chatters on shoals,

Intent on its seaward journey.

In the forest beside us loom,

Caped in regal white furs,

Majestic glacial erratics.

There beside the trail

We see the blurred old traces

Of hoof or paw or claw

Leading down to the lapping water.

We pass an ancient tree trunk

Riddled with woodpecker drills.

We’re approached by a feisty red squirrel

Who blithely bounces onward.

At the bridge we make our turn

And retrace our steps to the car.