The wind whooshed through woodrushes,
Whistled through water-reeds
As we wended our way
Through a wealth of white comfrey and
Whorls of watervole mounds,
At Woodwalton Fen
On a wet and wild mid-summer eve
Wearing waterproof wellies and winter coats
Until Rothschild's wooden bungalow on stilts
Gave haven to us weary walkers.
