Water’s Myths and Ghosts

A quiet moment, a public seat set upon cobbles, a view of ancient quays and associated buildings, and a little knowledge of a river’s past gave me this:

Blue door, red door, so misaligned,
Four storeys, crooked porch,
A leaning stack – what might one find
In the cellar’s ancient arch?

A Tudor breath?  Perhaps some hair
Within each wattled face?
What stories could be told in there?
Such history in this place.

Some noble merchant, bold of plan,
Built rooms to prove success.
In flowing river’s fullest span,
Sabrina’s drowning death.

But still they came, to trade, to build,
And flourish in the town.
Come flood and chaos, some are killed,
Fate smiling as they drown.

***

The twisted hemp still has its worth
To keep these drinkers safe,
Wrapped round the posts so none are cursed
With Hafren’s tragic fate.