He’d driven for some time
Before coming to a narrow bridge
A sign saying Cuckmere.
“That’s odd” he thought
“The same Cuckmere?”
Its banks steep and close
Water a quick muddy brown
Not the slow, low-banked friend
He thought he knew.
“But then, how recognizable am I now
After all these twists and turns?
And is there a stretch of me
That still races over
Mixed pebbled shallows?”
Constant Voice 