I go by a river running,
It looks clean and very serene,
Wanderng, to not stare would be shunning,
The beauty of the gently frosted bank's green.

Farther, past shop and paved road's end,
Till the sun hung low like the mist,
Through a wood, and what transport rails send,
Zipped by, molded sky and drops with breeze chilled kissed.

Opened up further, to an old ill-used pave,
Lead quietly, to somewhere past one more hill,
But two decided better not three, so I caved,
Returned to mushy path, peed tried to hold still.

Yet back the wind gently returned me,
This time over rails and not under,
Still, condensed dew, shoe-stew steeped tea,
From sweat and dirt wrecked hygiene asunder!

Right? But it doesn't matter,
And reflecting on lichens moist turquoise,
Noticed among the cool grey-tumbled pitter-patter,
What from falls past, is now fossilized time's noise.