Poem 67 of 230:  AT A POND

By habit,

    At a pond,

I look down

    Into it,

With the wish

    Of finding

Signs of life –

    Like goldfish.

At Glasgow’s

    Botanic

Gardens neat,

    There echoes

Such a wish,

    In the form

Of a fern

    In a dish –

With such fish.

    (These days, though,

Native-ponds

    Are my wish.)

(C) David Franks 2003 – https://walkaboutsverse.blogspot.com



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