An ode to the delicate little kingfisher I see flitting up and down the canal
Alighting on a branch he gleams
In stark contrast to cold-stripped beams,
An orange breast, sharp line of beak:
A fire within the winter bleak.
A sudden movement makes him rise
Into the dull and sullen skies,
His regal coat with glitter shone
Flits up, and drops, and then is gone.