Golden yellow buttercups,

Daisies daintily sweet.

Lion clocks fading,

Docks standing proud,

May flowers waving,

Nettles firmly competing:

All surrender to the

rampant grass,

except Thistle sharp.

Earthen banks, birds hunting,

Willows bow, rippling water,

silent pebbles, pool deep,

jumping trout, natures free,

never touched, Island haven.

Tufted mound,

grazed by history,

buried deep,

but I see you,

bitter sweet,

is my view.

Footnote: This was written where the field footpath crosses the river Aire on a walk from Skipton to Carleton.