by Dermot Mccabe

Created on: October 23, 2008   Last Updated: November 29, 2011

The Dargle River

I did not live in country places
Where God hides in trees and bushes;
I looked for all my answers
In small streets of grey houses.

I saw mysteries in pavement cracks,
And dusty orphaned leaves of grass
In unswept corners and crevices,
Defying brick and mortar to the last.

I remember standing knee high
In the flood of a small town river,
A baptism of unforgettable joy
I raised my face to heaven,
Where dock and nettle swarmed
And wagtails danced by singing water
That tumbled riotously through rusty spokes
Of an old wheel long discarded.

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