Poetry - The Walk

The Walk                                                                      

I get round the park much quicker these mornings.
No pauses for yawnings or taking a breath.
No aches and pains with every step.
No need to complain of the wind or the rain.

 I no longer rest at the 'halfway' bench

As you clench a bold fist at the world in defiance.
My eyes watch the track and never look back,
At the seat, or the bush where the leaves push through,
Spoiling your view of the swans as they sway on the lake.

I need not take a chance to peep at the branch
Of that brash cheeky bird, who just must be heard,
With his small beady eyes and bright orange beak,
Trying to peek as we pass his way.
But I DO flash a glance anyway.

I needn't pass flowers, scenting the hours
Spent sat in the park near the grass.
I've no one to show me, I’ve nothing to slow me,
My legs now too fast push me past and then on,
And most of my green has now gone.