River At Oxford Poem by Sally Evans

Robin and I went down to watch the boats,
past the gabled houses, the straggling hops,
over an old allotment gate,
past the scout hut, over the nettles and leaves,
onto a swaying jetty.

This, I said to Robin, is the land I left,
the land I barely knew, flat and wet,
warm and willowy. It goes all the way to London.
This is the river I was born by near Bow Bells,
river of houseboat and trout and flashing oar.
Robin siad nothing, After while we padded on,
past the fruit trees and old man's beard,
hips and haws and blackberries,
I talking unnecessarily and Robin saying nothing.