Poems by Amara450

The hot May sun beat down in a haze,
Pressing the Marina's dark waters flat and so calm,
Shining on narrow boats, now past working days.
Moored up in pairs to come to no harm.

No longer the forefront of haulage and trade,
They rest now, retired, cherished and loved,
By elderly people who now spend their days,
On England's canals and old waterways.

A few stalwarts are seen slowly at work,
Maintaining the glory of their ancient craft,
While one lady labour would far rather shirk,
To capture on canvas nostalgia that lasts

I relax on a bench and survey the calm scene,
Where trees lazily wave fresh leaves at the sky,
May blossom, wind blown, flutters down so serene,
Too settle down softly to go floating by.

I look more afield, where not far away,
St Mary's Church tower is soaring on high,
Guarding the graves, where stones old and grey,
Mark the passing of those from times now long by.

It may be that those now interred, at peace and at rest,
Spent lives working the boats moored up and in view,
Would be pleased are still used and not sadly left,
But are still loved and cherished by a fortunate few.