The Swans at Wells

An elderly gentleman beams red-faced
Neatly bearded and dressed in a black tuxedo
He stands in the park feeding birds
Behind the Wells Cathedral in Somerset
In the spacious Bishop’s Palace garden
Hidden by the gated wall near the grand moat

He holds seeds in his hands
Wild birds flock to him
Perch on his shoulders and head
Eat from their constant friend’s hands
And peck at the ground around his feet
For all the food fallen there

I’ve watched his kind actions before
And go to an empty bench beside the moat
Sit down to watch the tranquil show
Of white swans swimming their endless way
Around and about this circle of water
Their ethereal silent haunt

They pass in and out of the shadows
The still water barely moving
I heed the signs not to feed them
Something I would love to do
Myself a lifelong bird feeder
A passion passed on to me
From my maternal grandmother
Through my mother

How they seem like ghosts
Moving gently in a dream