The river moves with steady hum
Turf, dry and sweet, imbues the air
We sit among leafless trees
shrouded in white fairy lights
Daisy chains of tiny beams
A blur of faces pass in waves
with gifts for loved ones who
do not hear ‘Love’ enough

Lennon sings about
the end of war
as crowds shy from
a weathered man,
coughing
Fear and sympathy
co-existing
beneath their masks

Footsteps tap in cadence
while crossing ancient stone
coaxing every drop
The river, never rushed,
finds its own rhythm

– Karen Lawler