Canal, the end?
Like a wizened old man's finger my water does bend
I feel hidden; surrounded by buildings and trees
I may be murky; a vision of muddied water
But I was once business life’s blood, an aorta
Sometimes I feel ignored by you in a changing world
My skin, occasionally massaged by gentle breeze
Then outrageous joy as a canal boat ploughs up my spine
I may be old and dreamy; in my forgotten state
But I still dream of developers before it's too late
© Phil Golding 02/07
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.