Barge

On quiet waters where the reeds sigh low,
A sturdy barge glides, its paint a faded blue,
Through lock and meadow, past the willow’s flow,
It bears the labour of a bygone crew.

The rudder turns like thoughts of steady hands,
Each ripple whispers tales of trade and toil,
While swans in silver stance obey its bands,
And dragonflies alight upon the spoil.

At dusk the sky erupts in amber light,
Reflections dance upon the calm canal,
The barge rests mute, a tranquil, steadfast sight,
A floating heart of England’s water‑wall.