When The Wind Blows Cold in Winter

When the wind blows cold in winter,
When the sun sets steep behind the Severn,
When the herons keep their rebarbative watch,
And roosting cries cut the twilight sky,
It’s hard to see the outlines of trows and barges
Making their way to the Five Valley wharves,
Barges laden with coal and coke and timber,
Waiting their turn at the locks and the tunnel,
Gliding their sharp frost way to the River Thames.
The reeds and rushes keep their secrets,
The soughing of the wind masks the cabin talk,
And the ghosts make their way unheeded.