The rivulet flows as gently as love
onward to the sea ;
meandering in rills;
slipping through smooth folds
of sheep-cropped hills
and celandines and stones, unhurriedly.
But here beside the ancient bridge
I see it gather pace and force
in swirls around rock detours
certain of its course.
Channelled now into a stream it sings a joyous song
as it nears the waiting shore
and like a returning lover enfolded in a lover’s arms
lost in the moment between waking and a dream
the rivulet merges inexorably with the welcoming sea … .