The Park

Round and round and around,
The walkers and the runners,
The sedate and the vigorous,
Some cutting a dash,
With their suits,
Some determined striders,
With their pipes,
Some idle with their dreams,
Strolling by,
Dogs cutting a dash,
Tugging the lead,
Women with veils,
Dreaming of cars,
Women with prams,
And Men with cars,
Hoping for a son,
Boys with footballs,
Girls with footballs,
Lovers holding on,
The Keeper and his park,
The birds with bits of twigs,
And the band with bits of brass,
And the school kids.
Fresh-air keen,
And the families with their ghosts,
And children with their pals,
And tykes with their whippy sticks,
And flashing eyes,
The studious with their frowns,
And officious with arch-eyes,
And the timid in their gentle way,
Shy smiles gladly given,
And the linking of arms as friends,
Others eyes-dead and wanting,
What was free,
And a walk down past the bridge,
To see the Victoria Cross,
And scrambling up to the pond,
Grumbling mums and dads,
To see the still Stork as a statue,
The unseen troubadour at the gallows,
Round and round and around all.

© R Frank Wilson