Floating out on Windermere

Below the towering fells

Enveloped by the beauty here

And hosts of daffodils

Over the side of the little boat

Oars churn the placid lake

Where unexpected items float

To the Leven and the Crake

They meander through the baby trout

And clog their little gills

Of their origin there can be no doubt

Septic tanks and sewage spills

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(This poem is dedicated to the select members of the S.A.S. .... Surfers Against Sewage)!

I’m just swimming in Portreath

Just going through the 'motions'

A large environmental car thief

Made of a thousand witches potions

I’ve streaming eyes and raspy throat

A throbbing head and aching ear

The only safe place is a boat

I’d never write “Wish you were here!”

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