The canal it speaks to me
I hear its soft tones in the water.
I can hear its whispers in the trees.
It tells of a past life.
An era of the working boats and horses hooves,
Coal laden butty’s towed by motors.
Boatsman's cabin stove with its plumes of smoke drifting on the breeze.
The boatman sings his canal verses as he gets on with his day.
The love of the waterways flows through his veins
The canal listens to all that pass its way.
Gentle winds begin to blow in the trees.
The canal it tells her story,
To all who will pause and listen.
Slowly it moves on not uttering a sound.
Gently it flows moving with grace.
The canal it speaks to me.
Written by Jo Lodge
The linear blue passage that sweeps our nation,
Sculpted by man for his own exaltation to transport the trappings of mechanisation. Adapted by nature for its own exultation.
A watery landscape maturing through seasons, with history, nature, beauty its’ ultimate reasons to survive in this world of perpetual changes.
A constant, bewitching, manmade transportation.