The Wimborne Poem

December 2008. The first workshop explored the emotions stirred by the two rivers that surrounding the town.

Out of the workshop came a poem.



All afternoon the sound of the river
Green grow the rushes along the river bank,
Ambling amiably through Wimbourne's green hinterland.
Rivers swirling under the bridges
Swollen and brown with yesterday's rain,
Bubbling dangerously near Julian's bridge where people end their lives.
The river is dark and fast flowing on this stormy winter's day.
At New Year's brink a young man drowns in the river Stour,
The Stour meanders through the centre.
There are rivers at every entrance to the town,
Flowing forever, changing all the time.