Swans


Willows draped amongst trees of deep greens
Where birds drift silently in a distant peace
While Mallards and Coots plunge and dive
Within this calm but flowing pond

Blue skies with a sweeping mist of floating clouds
Where folded daisies and feather’s, geese
Stand beside the thistle’s bank
As the last of August leaves turn brown

All this time my daughters’ faces shines
Like golden leaves reflecting the evening sun
Moving alongside those ducklings trails
Following mother’s emerald and black down

Sweet, our children, voices like swirling ripples echoed
That come then goes, those calling doves
Those woodland birds that sit upon their Island home
Where dancing beams of warmth surround

Watching the flapping, splashing joy of play
Where fish pop up and bats parade
Where the old, wise tree, with its twisted bark
Leans across from the other shore

As people pass and softly speak
Like trees that stand and gently sway
While all the time those geese that chase
The dogs around this park and play

Suddenly and dressed all in white, majestic swans arrive
Heart shaped feathers and paired for life
As children point and parents too
As I sit thinking of my children and you.
 

BACK

A selection of Poems by Neil Broc.