Old Father Thames of London fame

once slid smooth and dark and dour,

smooth like molten glass he ran

as dark as the heart of Hell,

his whispering wavelets sorry lapped

there was a million tales to tell.

A million tales that river holds

stories of murder and tragedy,  

the Big Stink once 'twas rightly called 

Big Stink in more than smell,

fire and the death unholy Black

raged on fetid banks right fell.

Today the water ripples by

Oh, beloved Old Father Thames,

he welcomes young returning life 

down swift reaches to the sea,

singing 'neath the sun and moon

silver lit and dancing free.

A cities heart, a cities pride

capital river of the land,

 Old Father Thames journeys on

two-hundred miles he flows,

from a humble head to an estuary wide

where his History book is closed.