The day is grey, a chilly wind
Catch my breath as I walk slowly to the lake.
Sharp stones crunch down beneath me
As the rowing boat drifts gently from the shore
Sky endless drab; but all seems green or shades of.
Blue perhaps, or slate grey flecked with purple heather.
Small sandy landslips scar the distant slopes,
Far paths snake up the fell sides, a patchwork of enclosures bounded by stone walls.
Swifts overhead, bat like, diving like spitfires skim the surface of the water
Catching darting midges.
My boat cuts slowly through the small waves with a gentle dip
and water ahead like electricity shivers silver across the lake.
Reeling away, a circuit is too far, my aching limbs feel drained
But there it is; unfettered Force, violent physicality
Relentless in its spumy violence strikes
Down purple slopes, a patchwork rent with startling ease
This place; resistance futile, water outburst, shifting rock and soil
Suits my mood, the flowing water tipping to the surface
My reflection, interrupted, shivers
And all the world flows from my eyes, set free by Force and Fell
(Fond memories of Lake District)
Your vivid description has made me see the unseen beauty of nature.Nice poem!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
And all the world flows from my eyes, set free by Force and Fell. nice.