Poem

Breeze-blown clouds
Scud across the blue sky.
The view to Corfe crisp, clean,
Scoured by successive showers.

Crows at low tide, inventive and clever,
Black beaks probing the mud to find
Cockles, whelks, slipper limpets.
They seize the prize, then fly up high
To drop the poor mollusc
Onto the hard tarmac path,
Again and again,
Until the shell finally cracks,
And the crow can enjoy the tasty treasure therein.

As I walked by the harbour on St David’s Day,
Among the ubiquitous black-headed gulls,
I noticed some more unusual rarities.
I looked through my binoculars,
and saw:

Greylags, mallards, swans, moorhens
All paired-up in the park –
Mating season.

Mid February. A sunny Sunday afternoon.
The first warm day of the year.
The people of Poole head to the Park,
Eager to take the air.