fact, opinion and poetry (not airy-fairy)

Tuesday, 20 August 2013

Swans of the Grand Union Canal

Across the placid water they glide,
Necks long and elegant,
Poised to dip beneath a surface
That's smooth as their unruffled backs,
But dark and gleaming, holding secrets.

One looks me quietly in the eye and circles,
More in hope than expectation.
A few turns of its brown, webbed feet, 
Are all it deigns to make.
Its head ducks down, 
Comes up with weed
In reproach to my failure
To meet its unexpressรจd need.
It chuckles water through its bill.
The canal remains both dark and still.

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