From Danton Farm to harbour sluice gate,
The watercourse winds down towards the sea;
Now largely hidden from the public gaze,
It still has power to harm you and me.
Beside the metal footbridge at Broadmead,
It surfaces in Lower Radnor Park,
Where it glides and ambles beneath tall trees
That screen the glinting sun and pierce the dark.
Empty crisp packets and chocolate wrappers
Lie wedged among the stream washed rocks,
Ivy draped grotto screams neglect,
Moss stained stones and stagnant water mock.
But, vouchsafed by Victorian forebears,
It remains a quiet refuge from the race;
Where scurrying squirrels pursue their tails
And jackdaw and magpie compete for space.
Dog walkers trudge along the muddy track
That leads to paved Pavilion Road,
And one last glimpse of curving rivulet,
By fence at foot of Red Cow garden flowed.
No more the source of fresh water for the town,
No more the driving force for Foord Road mill,
No more the home on planks for fishing folk,
Shoved underground a shopping need to fill.
From Tontine Street via Hatch coffee house
It meets returning tide by harbour wall;
A quiet end perhaps, but still pent up threat
In times of storm and flood that may yet fall.
Sweet Mill flow softly.
Tony Quarrington 