Robert Fitzjohn

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The East Lyn River swiftly flows
Through Exmoor; to the sea it goes.
Through Moorland, farmland, it rushes to greet
Hoar Oak Water at Watersmeet.
...

The rambler set off from the village inn
And off down the road he went.
He turned on to a part through fern and whin,
Then by along fence he leant.
...

The Best Poem Of Robert Fitzjohn

The East Lyn River, Exmoore, North Devon

The East Lyn River swiftly flows
Through Exmoor; to the sea it goes.
Through Moorland, farmland, it rushes to greet
Hoar Oak Water at Watersmeet.
Through woodland, beautiful, serene,
The river, crystal clear and clean,
Skips lightly over pebbled shore,
Past grassy banks with leafy floor.
Twisting, tumbling, on its way,
Reflecting light from the sun's ray.
Huge boulders look like natural walls
And cause cascading waterfalls.
Around and over rocks it darts;
Past tiny islets the river parts,
Then comes together once again
To dart past Lynbridge, down and then
On to Lynmouth it rushes in,
There to merge with the East Lyn,
Onward, rushing, flowing free,
To Lynmouth harbour, where it meets the sea.

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