Craggy, Cumbrian mountains
Secure in their immortality,
Skirted by birch and willow
Unmoving for want of a breeze.
The ewe lies watching her lamb,
Tail quivering like a catkin, it
Scrambles onto the rock and
Poses, before tumbling down again.
The waters of Angle Tarn
Come rushing, falling, telling the same
Ageless tales, they join Coldrill
Past Hartsop Fold, on to Patterdale.
They flow into the lake and,
Sighing upon her shores, they shimmer,
Then, with Sleep, lie glass-like, still,
Until Narcissus has his mirror.
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