Sooner or later a poet, or at least some of us, return to nature for inspiration. It is truly an endless source of wonder and just observing the natural world is both calming and revitalising. One such experience for me was while in Switzerland, observing the purity and aqua colour of glacial water running down from the alps into the hilltop villages of green. Hope you enjoyed the poem.
The cascades like diaphanous veils
soften those stoic stone edges,
smoothed in time’s unrelenting beat,
spayed out in white relief
against those shadows beneath,
and the sibilant rush is pleasing to the ear,
as misted drops of water rise
cloud in swirling updraughts to sympathise,
as the endless flow aspires.
Green in honoured lean
elegantly frames the stream,
leaves rustling above the rush,
jagged shapes on branches yearning,
a bower made in perfect form
as ferns and grasses line the edges,
vibrant colours and hues of green lace
to trace that meandering bed
where stones so smooth abide.
The air is crisp and pristine,
a life-giving vow of perfection,
as moisture drops attest the tops
of every pine needle and surface,
while that hissing stream flows strong,
its destination far from home,
from glacial ice and snow,
seeking a calm gathering
in the low undulating hills below.
As the stream broadens,
the aqua flow slows down
and so pure its proclivity,
its chilled visage a clarity of dreams
as it arrives at small villages on the valley floor,
carpeted green with lazy cows galore,
dotting the hills in black and white,
spring light to warm their bones,
as the stream finally gathers to rest.
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