Holiday in the Lake District

I hate Wordsworth's wild landscape
rainsoaked life
hate the distance to anywhere
and I think he would hate
like me the Sunday walkers
summer strollers
trumping tramping tourists
that crush his world
wanderers in corduroy
and walking boots
smelling of
salt stained
back packed effort

I hate them

but I come here
because I love his words
the world they paint
beyond the drab wet green
dripping trees
and the shadow awning mountains
is the smell of moss and lichen
the silent still and ancient rocks
in tumbling crystal waters

the sound of life
scuttling in the grass

and I love the way he
shows me the child he was
setting out across the fells
for an eternal day
along the Derwent
in the alder shade

as he plants
the bulbs
that will illuminate my life

Jim Bennett