Evan Further up the creek but no Paddle

Where Skipool Creek twists deep and low,
The shifting tides refuse to stay,
Through autumn wind and winter snow,
They wash the memories away.

But further up, where waters thin,
The wild weeds climb and summer grass
Sinks deep into each rotting skin,
As all the changing seasons pass.

And resting there, now high and dry,
The broken boats slowly decay,
Beneath a grey, indifferent sky,
As earth reclaims them day by day.