Benson WeirA Poem by Chris Shaw
I walk this sturdy, steel-grey bridge
which spans the river's flow, to watch the gush and sudden rush of water plunge below. The wicked weir with all its force, a source of fear to some. And yet it holds a canvas bold to thrill for days to come. A thousand swirls of crystal twirls cascade and dance for joy, as continents of floating foam surround a bobbing buoy. A surge of moving marble peaks collide with broken reeds, and small suds on the margins form a line of cut glass beads. Too soon they merge then disappear, lost in the downstream chase where all becomes a memory of crystalline and lace.
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Added on May 10, 2018Last Updated on January 14, 2024 AuthorChris ShawBerkshire, United KingdomAboutAlbert, my paternal grandfather introduced me to Tennyson when I was nine. I have loved poetry ever since but did not attempt writing a single piece until I was 40. It's never too late to try somethin.. more..Writing
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