Sell the Strid

At distance, a low electrodrone.
Closer, an out-loud powerhouse.
We approached slowly 
(With care and respect) -
As if toward an alter or a corpse.
We bowed with our minds.
Sweet moss, pasted on the rocks, 
Gave much-needed anchorage
To our leaden but slippery steps.

The banks were granite-still: as still as a million years.
Rocks, shaped by wind, water, 
Offered a cool symmetry
Of fleshy curves and lines
Which were beyond the sculptor's dream.
They desired the furtive touch we give gallery nudes.
Small bell-pits, full of dead water, litter, 
Poxed the rocky banks.

Then the river slimmed itself.
Pulled in its wide girth to ferment and foam!
A river-riot of kept rage amid well-swept woods.
Our little taste of wild: raw and uncooked.

The sign said, It kills!
The 'brown god' kills! Well fancy that!
It had drank bodies and spat out bones
Down by the calm brown.

We said: 
Give us this day our mad half hour, 
You mad piece of river.
We want to drink your beer.

Then, inside, Death arose to tempt the jump
To a not-quite-certain death.
Come on! You know you want to!
One slip and in you'd go.
Down, down, gulped deep down the greedy water-gullet.

Dip your toe in the water!