Broomfield Park

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