At Vuda Park
The stick slipped,
He was about to fall,
But his crony crutch supported him
With her fragile frame.
Stumbling, they sat on a bench in a corner,
And I was reabsorbed in my Herman Hesse.
Of course, I am a bird-watcher,
But old birds are not my game.
They came soon enough,
With laughter beyond all reason,
With a charm that could transform a dreary desert -
The natural inhabitants of Vuda Park.
And the waiting eyes began their roving routine.
As the sun slithered further down,
And the scene was shifting to the beach,
I got up as though ...