The Dargle River
I did not live in country places
Where God hides in trees and bushes;
I looked for all my answers
In small streets of grey houses.
I saw mysteries in pavement cracks,
And dusty orphaned leaves of grass
In unswept corners and crevices,
Defying brick and mortar to the last.
I remember standing knee high
In the flood of a small town river,
A baptism of unforgettable joy
I raised my face to heaven,
Where dock and nettle swarmed
And wagtails danced by singing water
That tumbled riotously through rusty spokes
Of an old wheel long discarded.