The Garavogue river sweeps past the Silver Swan.
She glides across the rocky outcrops, falls into fish pools where Cormorants dive to feast on fresh eels.
She carries life within, unseen, unnoticed and yet,
And yet, we know who dwells there.
The frogspawn in a quiet backwater, the Little Egret wading for smallfry.
Swans and Mallard compete for bread.
Canoeists ride her waves, submerge and surface again.
Lifebuoys dotted along the bank, reminders of the tragic souls consumed by her savage beauty.
She laps gently along the jetty, her mild manner deceptive cover to the strong current beneath.
We gaze into her as we sip a Latté at Fiddlers, at peace with our dreams.