Hanging like old cobwebs
In a shipyard shed
The Clyde is fogged
The far bank
Invisible
And the flow of the old river
Is slowed by friction
Wrapped around
Rolling still, but slow
Like the year
Now passing
this fragile tent
a blog about small beautiful things
this fragile tent 
Beautiful.
(That last comment was not me by the way- I assume it was someone in my family using my computer. Just in case you thought I was bigging myself up!)