The Tamar Wetlands Poem by Les Littleford

The boardwalk runs deep into the wetlands,
Vehicles scud silently down distant roads
But we
shielded by towering feathered reeds
sense the isolation.
Across the swamps and mudflats
lies evidence of man’s attempts to tame,
and natures continuing resistance.

Levee banks crumble in the reeds,
scuppered vessels stagnate in the mud,
sunk to form a barrier to the silt
yet breached so easily by the first big flood.

Decaying cottages and iron huts,
dilapidated well, old fruit trees
and sunk in the arms of a twisted oak
a rusted plough.
Stories all.

On this most breathless day
a tapestry of winter hues adorns the sky.
Reflected perfectly in glasslike peace
clouds sail the river, terns circle and cry.

Graceful swans armada through the creeks,
Ducks in their thousands patrol the muddy flats
and ibis wait with infinite patience for their strike.
For this is their space
birds, frogs, snakes, all
flourish in this refuge where we,
cowed,
have given the wetland back.

And in this is reward.
Dotted along the boardwalk, seats
provide sanctuary for us.
To pause, ponder, and marvel.