In the wetlands of Fermanagh where the
Heron stalks its prey,
The Mallard quacks and paddles in the
newness of the day;
With reeds gently swaying, caressed
by winds that blow,
To dance with lapping waters
sweet and low.
Tranquillity of beauty in a special
blend so rare,
The generous harvest of God’s bounty
scattered there;
For me to look in wonder at the
Heron on the shore,
Before graceful flight away from me
once more.
30.10.06
Love it. Can just imagine the scene. I love it when I see a heron that stands on our nearby small reservoir but have yet to see it take flight.