Cruising past the flat lands lower than sea-
Level, which the sea one day may swallow
Again; sailing down the River Waveney,
We wave at other boats that come and go.
Will future generations ever know
This gentle fusion of toil and leisure,
As diggers unearth soil and cattle grow
Fat, in fine fettle, a land of pleasure.
A boat called ‘Endless Summer’ leaves the shore,
Chugging along all optimistically,
Though winds are whipping and the clouds are low,
And change is written by autumn’s author.
Meanwhile, men sit and fish along the quay,
And, for the time being, things still move slow.
Thur 30 Aug 2007
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