The ditches along Duttons Lane have been full
much of March – because February-fill-dyke
was mostly dry, almost Spring for days.
The glinting water is dark as black tea,
brown as bitter beer. Along Acres Lane
the hawthorn hedgerows are beginning to green.
We park as near the school as we can.
The leafy lane is overflowing with song.
As we walk through the security gates
to join the others waiting – a social mix,
and mainly white – a westerly wind
brings the roars of lions from the zoo nearby.
The daily Beluga flies overhead
with parts from Toulouse for Airbus wings
to be built at Broughton. The handcart
we may go to Hell in will be well designed!
But she appears, our quotidian
messiah, the unexpected grandchild
to redeem us in our eld, our dotage.
How she inundates our doting hearts,
makes us merry with love!