It’s pleasant to walk at ease beside
a quiet old canal,
a very common thing to do
that some may think banal:
appears canal as a silent water
next to a towing track,
bright fields lie flat to a river bank,
a bridge casts shadows black:
past trees over mallards on parade
when there’s no moving craft:
are lime kilns standing dark and silent
whose mouths with fire once laughed
but that was when all the barges came
with cotton, lime and coal,
and by such goods mill towns were growing
and building up their soul.
Away from the town the quiet deepened
to meet the spirit’s need,
except when cyclist rushes by
on journey’s aim at speed.
The Summer sees how the mood can change,
canal trips and canoes,
the picnic sites with people filled
near where their cars can cruise.
The mood turns normal with human life
though there’s not much to see,
but come there past the daylight sun
find gentle place there be.
Though for a while such canals become
a playground for the world,
when Autumn rises, calm returns,
a strengthening peaceful pearl.
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