The Cuckmere

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?”

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