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
For me to look in wonder at the
Heron on the shore,
Before graceful flight away from me
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.