'There is the play of a fountain. They might waken to starlings and parakeets.' Photo: by Mark Timberlake on Unsplash
Boxing Day morning, Walpole Park
Poem by Barbara Davey
Beneath its spreading branches
the conifer shelters a body
tucked up against the wall.
The gloom makes details
difficult to discern
but they’re using a sleeping bag
so it must have been planned
in a manner of speaking.
Out of the rain, the needled ground
will afford a measure of comfort.