Every winter Lambwaths flooded
Breaching stream banks either side
So there was a stretch of water
Maybe fifty yards or so wide
And the Buttercup meadows in which
We used to play, dance, chase, leap
Were now knee high covered
With a cold watery deep
A sort of shimmering expanse
Of rippling shifting grey white
Under winter's stars or when
Reflecting winter moonlight
It washed away all the little bones
The year the rabbit plague struck
Or covered them decently with
Its flow of oozy muddy muck
It was good to walk down there
In that cold quiet dark land
Fields as welcoming and familiar
As the back of my own hand
Each winter in its time passed
And the floods long gone down
Lambwaths became once more
The village's lush green playground
