(Sometimes it becomes a stream)
Beside the River Dart
There are gullies
Cut every so often into and down the bank
To relieve the flood-waters
Beyond the waterfall
The path becomes
A single, foot-fall way
There is a log
By a calm stretch, a lull where
I think to sit down
Then I see the flies, and the midges
Hovering, skating on the surface
I am in no mood for being bitten
I go back from whence I came
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