I watch the river flow while dirty go.
Its cold I know.
A black bird in the shade well made.
Looking for a crumb or two in the view.
Its less cold than an hour ago.
Possibly Winter snow.
The bird found something but did not sing.
His voice is raw, a caw.
I see a duck and more wildlife, flying by.
Its peaceful here, never mind the time of year.
Where only man is vile a poet said.
One who’s dead.
Some traffic going gently by.
I smoke a cigarette.
13th November, 2017