Lower Garden – Lotus Pond
Watching the lotus leaves, crowded, flippant,
in a lake subsumed by jostling, a party of flirts
who smile and stare, then blow the other way.
None are perfect, most blowsy
with torn edges, fading patches
and yellow margins, some younger leaves
pruned savagely by insects.
The pond heaves and shivers,
courts the wind, unlikely picnickers
they fill the field, while I try to push
a green puddle into shape.
Then a dusky moor hen steps past, [more timid
than a Coot, tamer than a swamp hen]
red and black feet latent with possibilities.