M. A. Bottomley
Witnessing The Bore
My god is more beseeched than thanked.
Admit it and be done.
But as I stand upon the bank
And watch my childhood Severn run
Contrariwise and wild,
Allowing me to be once more
Untroubled, almost reconciled
To life, not as it was before
The storms of adulthood brought down
My summer dens of innocence,
But as lived under this tired town’s
Austere indifference,
I feel an unexpected surge
Of wonder at this autumn day.
Whatever demiurge
Does drive this tide the other way,
Albeit only now and then,
Is due a praise most worshipful
For offering the world of men
Exceptions to their rule.
Page(s) 13
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