No zebra crossing, close-by a menace
of lionesses; flies swarm, wildebeest fidget.
And then the rain. The river's rain-happy.
A flock of pink flamingos flight a sunset.
I take a photograph. The guide and you.
A hippo yawns. The crocodiles smile.
That canopy of russet forest
beguiles the crowd. On Cannop Ponds
a cacophony of mallards,
moorhens and coots, a herring gull;
along the track the herds of bikes
and hikers, kids and dog walkers;
an oak, squat like grandma's clock,
dazzles, unthreads his hooded tale.
Her weathered cloth warms his morning,
the dreams of wolves whisper once more.
Phil Wood works in a statistics office. He enjoys working with numbers and words. His writing can be found in various publications including: The Open Mouse, Autumn Sky Daily, London Grip, Ink Sweat and Tears.
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