A moorhen busies herself,
rocks this way and that
on a wave-washed nest.
Swans float in late afternoon chill,
shadows lengthen,
chestnut buds swell.
Forsythia trembles the breeze –
pastel-green willows barely move
dipping branch-tips into the lake.
Every year I wait for this –
first flowers, trees leafing
on sculpted branches,
reflecting in the water
their steadfast
cascades of green.
©Katherine Gallagher
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Dear Jeanie,
Thank you for this, and thanks for obtaining a picture of Broomfield Park with the willows. Exciting. I love it. There is another lake which feeds into the one in the picture and the swans walk across. I love swans and the black swans also.
However, they have only white ones in Broomfield Park.
Kind regards,
Katherine