I feel better when I walk to Quorn from Barrow
On pavements laid by water meadows
Set close by the River Soar
Slabs stretch for half a mile or more
Bordered by the thick lush grass
Fields of forage fed by floods.
When rain has rinsed the surface stone
The pathway gleams as clean as new
High pitched pylons frame my view
Amphibia discharge their spawn
Runners and ramblers step in turn
To trickle through the watery marsh
Sometimes I’ll take a stick or staff.
Slabs might be raised or cracked or sunk
Briskly tread both rough and smooth
Better put my worst shoes on
So I can risk the mud and sludge.
Cattle, seagulls, herd and flocks
Swans in pairs and dogs in packs
Trace my footsteps if I run.
Liveried narrow boats in line
Fly flapping flags of pants and jeans
Through the Soar’s black liquid brew
Throbbing engines stir and screw.
Though my return is straight and narrow
From well fed Quorn to bony Barrow
Tin trailers on a caravan park
Wink temptation in the dusk.
Might orange sunsets light the sky
Above green grass where pavements lie?