The Wandering Wreake

It gently flows, but sometimes it babbles, from east to west

And there're certain places that it lets you wander at its behest

Passing weeping willows, cottage gardens and crumbling locks

And on a sunny day you might see a wary rabbit, or a weary fox

It twists and turns upon its course from Melton to the river Soar

By quaint villages 'on-the-Wreake', old mills and past Bleak Moor

Herds and flocks will gather on its banks, by humpback bridges

To drink the waters, that feeds the herons and lures the midges

It's placid and pastoral and in the depths of winter it rarely rages

And it's been realigned and abandoned by us at different stages

But like time itself, it only flows one way and though it's not unique

There're poetic reflections in the company of the wandering Wreake