I came upon the footbridge
And stopped to listen there
and all stood still but the gurgling brook
And the fading leaves in the Autumn air

I heard my boys’ voices distant accross the field
My daughters’ footsteps approaching
A distant dog bark
A machine far away

But here in the wold surrounded valley
Our own noise was muted; our thoughts stopped too
And the Water moved on under the footbridge
Never changing, always new

Past and future had never been
Only the gently swaying leaf above,
And lapping below the wooden bridge;
This moving stream

This moment was the only news
The only event and reality
Bursting upon the silence
But gently, slowly; sweetly

A shot; the brass clad Pheasant rises
From the woods to the top of the hill

To a view of many miles beneath
Deep ploughed brown furrows
and a short, green clad figure on the heath

Far away I glimpse the marsh and plain.
And the quiet church of Tetford is hidden yet present
Ancient stones and many generations.