Ashness Bridge Poem by C Richard Miles

When I was sixteen summers’ old,
I posed on narrow Ashness Bridge
And peered below where waters swirl,
So crystal clear and icy cold
As, dropping down the heathery hill,
They leapt, like a small, gleeful girl
All full of fresh-faced youth and sport,
With agile, new-found, supple skill
That early autumn’s sprinkled showers
Had, to refresh them, lately brought
Since summer’s thirsty, dreadful drought
Had shrivelled grass and faded flowers.
The bracken-backed blue picture frame
Of watching mountains, all about,
Encased that simple rustic scene,
All auburn, red and yellow flame
Before the wicked winter frost
Could rob the moors of all their green
And make each shimmering, lonely lake
Lament the beauty that was lost,
With cries from every crest and ridge
For healing spring new haste to make.