Monday, 8 February 2010


This, the patient heron.
I thought once I knew him.
so straightfaced and solemn,
upstanding, almost grim,

stilted, yes, and studied,
a good mind: set on fish,
as stately and as formal
as any stick might wish

or if walking, stalking,
high stepping, sure and slow,
placing those great splayfeet
just where they need to go.

So I thought I knew him.
Yet see, where now he flings
legs high in abandon
and plays tag with his wings;

he romps with his fellows,
and teases until they
catch from this one prankster
the madness of the day.

The heavens are falling;
the sun has rolled aside;
the herons are dancing
at the edge of the tide.

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