The Poet by Elizabeth Henry

I roamed beside the stream, so cool and calm,

A notebook and a pen beneath my arm.

I heard the din of voices, crass and loud,

And hid behind a hedgerow from the crowd.

 

I ventured very slowly to a bridge,

Tormented by the fly and by the midge.

I dawdled in the water for a while,

Then drifted through the grass towards a stile.

 

The flowers all around me danced and swayed,

As little baby rabbits frisked and played.

I heard the plop of liquid as a trout

Began to struggle free and flap about.

 

I felt the brush of blossom as it fell

Amongst a clump of daisies in the dell.

I sniffed a pungent odour in the field

And pondered what the farmer had concealed.

 

I passed a pair of sweethearts in a tryst

And tactfully ignored them as they kissed.

I chuckled at the antics of a hound

That chased in their direction with a bound.

 

Its keeper swiftly followed in a flap

And snatched the puppy from the lover’s lap.

I noticed how her face began to flush,

As shame and agitation made her blush.

 

And then, at last, I reached my favourite spot,

A sheltered little niche to scratch and jot.

And with my nibbled biro, worn and old,

I wrote a fine sestina, clear and bold.