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  I often walk the cycle track below Rodborough Hill, The old Midland Railway spur from Dudbridge, And I often cycle the track on to Nailsworth, Musing on the springs and watercourses, the ancient holloways, The Roman villa, medieval ridge and furrow, the woollen mills, The occasional mill chimney, still rising high into the Stroudwater sky. But, today, I stand at the blue brick retaining wall At the old Dudbridge railway station, Watching the cars career around the roundabout, Drivers mostly oblivious of the history of Dudbridge; But when I ignore the roar of the traffic, And I find my mind’s historical eye, I can see a medieval pilgrim crossing the bridge, A packhorse with Cotswold wool a mile behind. For here I stand by the confluence of two rivers. But also, at the junction of...