The Bard has told us, a web we weave –
When telling lies, the truth to grieve –
Entangling us in strands complex –
Beyond retention – our memories vex.
For all our ability – to mislead –
We pale before water’s capacity to deceive –
Its calm shimmering surface, wet –
Oft below – hides a world of threat.
Roots, weeds, and old nets there hide –
Camouflaged by the ever changing tides –
To snare us with the grip of death –
Entangled – we can despair of breathe.
And water’s lies they stop not there –
But of its depth we must beware –
So clear, its bottom so close may seem –
Disguising metres of space between.
Like Dibley’s vicar, in a puddle to step –
Full of hidden danger – and much regret.
Our deception is a web it’s said –
But water’s tangles – can leave us dead.