St Michaels On Wyre

Itself a river, the Anaconda coils, uncoils In swamps beside calm reaches of the Orinoco, A foot in girth and thirty feet in length, it rises Slowly seeking out its prey, wild pig or deer, Exerts its muscles of enormous strength to squeeze Its victim's breath away, and dislocates its jaws to swallow Whole its monthly ration before a long and sated rest. The Wyre itself conforms to no such boundaries of flesh, Coils, uncoils its course from Bowland's Pennine source Towards the Irish Sea it meanders with deceptive calm. But when in spate, it writhes beyond its natural bounds, To rupture banks and drown the dreams and uninsure The future lives of those whose houses that it swamps. It swallows whole communities with its ferocious floods.