The pensioner heron in old grey coat
shrugs his thin shoulders at the world.
Weary, he has seen all things afloat.
Now he yawns with a wing unfurled.
Should he fly with his great beak proud
pointing ahead to where alders shroud
the river bend? Or should he stay here?
This is the difficult question, unclear.
But nobody cares or pays much attention.
Another solitary geriatric figure
elicits only a confident snigger
from the world at large. No apprehension.
But then the stab! The lightning beak's
found the tender thing it seeks.