The Dee Estuary Poem by John Berry

Never two days alike as I stare out across the river's mouth;
marsh grasses wave and shimmer as a warm wind blows in from the south;
wind turbines spin where one-time lay the hazy, mystic Point of Air.

Seabirds sailing salty ponds dot the wideness of the estuary,
sheen and colour varying, while rippling water's odours carry
across wide and wild expanses to steelworks and cooling towers.

Parkgate sea-front, whence Handel carried his ‘Messiah’ to Ireland
runs marsh-edged, black and white, sun lit, as yet unspoiled by man's dire hand
but, beyond the Welsh Harp Bridge, paper mills, low and sulphurous stand.

Yet, each year the honking geese and swans fly over the sun to roost;
wild flowers and rare orchids show their heads in places they may choose
High tides and offshore winds, bringing water again, refresh the shore,
as industry and Nature compromise, a balance to restore.

(John Berry October 2008.)