The Leaden Stour

Down by the leaden Stour the miller’s tale is at an end. In a wood at the
water’s edge rooks are nesting overhead. Here, beneath the clouds,
black waters rise again
Down by the leaden Stour fog is settling on the elds, pathways disappear,
footfalls led astray
By the riverside
A penny for the ferry
New stones for the churchyard. A hundred years have passed, black waters rise
again
Down by the leaden Stour hawks are circling overhead. A sundial by the yew
trees, a guinea for a life
By the riverside
There’s wood for the gallows and food for the crows
The carriers of souls
Black waters rise
One hundred years have passed, black waters rise again
By a curve of the river
At the end of the road
Black waters rise again