Above my head. And then I see them, two swans
Flying in to their runway behind the reeds.
The bridge is slippery, the grass so sodden
That water seeps into my shoes. But now
The sun has come out and everything is calm
And beautiful as the end of a hangover.
Christas was a muddle
Of turkey bones and muted quarrelling.
The visitors have left.
Solitary walkers smile and tell each other
That the day is wonderful.
If only this could be Christmas now -
These shining meadows,
The hum of huge wings in the sky.
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