The Swans at Wells

Here’s my draft for today, Sunday 05.05.19.

The Swans at Wells

There is an elderly gentleman, beaming
neatly bearded and dressed in a black tuxedo
who stands in the park feeding birds
just behind the Wells Cathedral in Somerset
the spacious Bishop’s Palace garden, inside
the gated wall near the grand moat

He holds seed or bread crumbs in his hands
and the wild birds of all sorts flock to him
perch on his shoulders, even his head
eat from his hands, their constant friend
in whom they trust, pecking at the ground
near his feet, for the food that has fallen there

I pass by, I’ve watched his kind actions before,
and go to an empty bench beside the moat
surrounding the palace, so much more preferring
the tranquil show of the white swans cruising
their endless way around and about this circle
their ethereal haunt of the silent waterway

They pass in and out of the shadows, the still water
seeming hardly to move as they float along, and I
heed the signs warning not to feed them, something
I would love to do, myself a lifelong bird feeder, a passion
passed from my maternal grandmother to my mother to me
like ghosts they move as gently, seem almost a dream