Sat above the quayside

On a red tiled roof

The old grey heron

Feathers blown askew in the wind

Croaks and groans in low tones

South-westerly keening up the lake

Bright blue above

What’s his game?

Waiting, watching

Always waiting

He’s waiting still


CLP 12/11/2019

Published by

Christopher Perry

Liberté, Equalité, Humanité