Under motorways over excavated tunnels flow the hidden veins of life,

Rides the motor launch, a pleasure toy, hired by that family from Fyfe.

Concealed by houses, factories, garden sheds and wooded copses, invisible, they persist

Meandering through fields and meadows town and village, wrapped in winter by a thick belt of mist.

Within yards of Father Thames in suburban heartland was I born.

Is this why when distant from them I feel that separation, almost torn?

To visit family, I cross the Severn by the mouth of the River Wye,

On the banks of the Liffey, so many so dear, such fond memories lie.

I was there by the Mersey, with other work on Wharfe, Firth of Forth and Clyde.

Once stayed on a river barge descending to it when nestled at low tide.

Up Southampton Water, near Meon and Hamble, between the Itchen and the Test,

This was my home in earlier times, there then once was my nest.

To explore hidden curves of Stour, of Dart, the Fal, the Fowey Mole, Arun and Rother.

So much better for me than all those cruises and voyages, why would I bother?

Instead in my kayak I shall paddle the waterways far and wide,

To see otters and grass snakes, inland in calm waters I shall erect my hide.