The ditches along Duttons Lane have been full

much of March – because February-fill-dyke

was mostly dry, almost Spring for days.

The glinting water is dark as black tea,

brown as bitter beer. Along Acres Lane

the hawthorn hedgerows are beginning to green.

We park as near the school as we can.

The leafy lane is overflowing with song.

As we walk through the green security gates

a westerly wind brings the roars of lions

from the zoo nearby. We join the others

waiting – a social mix, and mainly white.

The daily Beluga flies overhead

with parts from Toulouse for Airbus wings

to be built at Broughton. The handcart

we may go to Hell in will be well designed!

But she appears, our quotidian

messiah, the unexpected grandchild

to redeem us in our eld, our dotage.

How she inundates our doting hearts,

makes us merry with love!