The Wear washed it's way through Durham as ducks with their ducklings
Were swept over the mini ledges that form crescents in mid flow;
Above the dense, swaying green of the trees the Cathedral peered down on us
Little figures on the tow path, as with figures from long ago;
Getting feet wet in puddles, measuring the gaps between the boardwalk slats,
Feeling the rise of the embankments, testing tired legs;
Spanning bridges, taking a breath, starting again,
Squeezing some peace out of worried days' dregs;
Remembering the last time we were here, circuiting the cloisters,
Taking coffee and biscuits, sitting outside under a tree;
"If your enemy is thirsty give him drink" we heard
And the river ran on to the sea
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem