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Dave Hall

Dee Estuary

A skinny little frog
Making steady progress
Through the shallows of a pond
In a field which fronts the estuary
And then drops sharply,
Precipitately down.
And there's a lark lifted,
Lifted, lifted up by the threaded
Seed-pearl of its own song.
But the waders take no notice.
The waders keep their heads down.
They are paying close attention.
But not to the looped liquid
Syllables of the rapid curlews
Passing breathily overhead.
And there's a heron,
That somehow not-quite-bird
Sliding his slow shins
Through the muddy waters —
Herr Professor in pince-nez,
Hands behind his coat-tails,
Hunched, stooped,
Focussing inwards on
Time, Infinities, Futurities!
The mud-banks smile
Giving nothing away
But their own length;
Even the gulls have found
Something to laugh at;
But then, who would be
Anywhere but the world?