Don't Blame The River

The lady drowned:

no peaceful Ophelia,

clutching a posy,

floating, framed in reeds.

Don’t blame the river.

Just buoyant, face down;

reed-hidden, so well,

it took two weeks

of news bulletins to find her.

Don’t blame the river.

The fish die too,

they float in profile,

flat, like unfed goldfish,

the poisoned perch and carp.

Don’t blame the river.

The reeds will disappear,

the willows on the banks;

otters, shrews, voles

and the just-returned beaver.

Don’t blame the river.

The water won’t run,

the silence will be unbroken

by once-raucous water fowl

or the call of the kingfisher.

Don’t blame the river.