Beyond the mill the river slows her pace
To pool and calm the anxious breaching Dace.
The river, wide and deep and banked by rushes
Paints supple waving fronds with deft weed brushes.
Her tangled curves weave knotted rafts of scrub
From fallen trees to shield the shoals of Chub
And darting packs of Pike tear up the groups
Of Roach that flee her flow in flashing loops,
To shelter deep in shadows for protection
Downstream, to where she chose her own direction.
As she shallows her course becomes much faster
And halos of rainbows are tossed among Aster.
Her changing shows as seasons colours burn
The sway of time, alive in every turn.
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