Willow-Herb

July 2nd, Heptonstall

“The canal sunning slack ripples,

Rusts, useless.

Black chimneys, lopped stump-low for safety,

Sprout willow-herd.

Down Egyptian walls

The voices trickle

Into gleam-black stagnation.

Something that was fingers and

Slavery and religious, reflects sky.

Stone softens,Obsolete despair

Smiles this toothless and senile

Mauve-pink flower.”

Willow-herb by Ted Hughes