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 ramblings and things

Lambwaths Stream

Six hundred years she's been recorded
Flowing the Holderness Flood plain
Sometimes she's known as a stream
Sometimes she's  shown as a drain.
I  didn't know this history
When i played there as a child
Uncultivated acres where
Village children could run wild.
Each winter she broke her banks
Flooding the fields on each side
A flat shimmering silver expanse
Maybe a hundred yards wide.
Summers she was docile
Constrained to her banks
Lush green meadows stretching
For miles along her flanks.
That's where we village children
Could safely play and roam
Long summers in the wilderness but
Really not very far away from home.
Hide and seek or just chasing
Sitting and talking as we got older
Maybe experimenting with life as we
Got more mature and maybe bolder.
Through her long history how many
Children has she seen
Playing alongside her banks
In her meadows of lush green.
I think of her often now
In a sort of half waking dream
Eyes closed listening to stillness
There alongside  Lambwaths Stream.
In  memory it's  always sunny
Quite often a Cuckoo is calling
Insects flit and hover and buzz in
the grass where I'm  sprawling.
So many years since I've been back
But my sense of recall has been kind
And her part in a happy childhood is
Stored safe and securely in my mind.

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