by MARIA BONAR
In my youth, the willow tree
trailed branches like maidens’
tresses by the still, quiet waters
of the Monkland canal
teenage sweethearts
slipped under the canopy
for long steamy kisses
on the mossy earth below
inside, a summerlit green world
closed, intimate
outside, a choir of bumblebees
a serenade of sparrows
air perfumed by the
spicy tang of rhododendrons
mingled with the delicate
scent of wild roses
a shy water vole plopped into reeds
vibrant kingfishers whistled,
hovered over the water
but no one was watching the wildlife.
– Near Glasgow