The day is dull. The trees around the lake
are almost bare and shiver in the mist.
The birds are scarce. A single mallard drake
just paddles past, not looking for a tryst.
The dwindling yellow willows whisper, though,
as if they have a secret. Will they tell?
Their low trails stir – we wonder what they know –
and then the water ripples, starts to swell.
A little arch of branches shows and spreads,
reveals a visitor. A mandarin!
Resplendently attired in ruby reds
and sapphires, ginger-golds, and dazzling grin!
The sun bursts out and fanfares fill the air,
a symphony of calls from moorhens, coots
and swans. George Swan approaches, with his glare;
the duck departs, towards the willow roots.
If you have any thoughts about this poem, Felicity Teague would
be pleased to hear them