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   In the Wexford Slobs
From their high angular flight
The honking geese glide down
In circles onto the mudflats.
The wading herons with slow steps
Stalk between the reeds piercing
The shallow water with their beaks.
And suddenly a flock of screeching terns
Scatters in a frenzy of wings.

From the edge we look
Across the expanse of marsh.
Between tufts of sedge
In shallow ponds wigeons
Dabble and groom themselves.

Here we stand back.
These travellers are let stop over.
Rest, feed and move on.