Arriving in cars, on foot, by bike,
All choosing the same destination,
Part of the city, yet so unalike,
Calling out in invitation.
Running, jogging, smiling, talking,
Clicks of heels, and clangs of keys,
Bread swinging, dogs walking,
A constant pulse, beneath the trees.
To the swans, most will go,
A sharing with strangers,
Conversations beginning to flow,
No sense of those usual dangers.
Holding for a moment,
Even those just passing through,
Needing no encouragement,
To stop and enjoy the view.
Sitting by the strand, that place of peace,
Enfolded within a noise that never sleeps,
Still resides a rest that does not cease,
An escape from the city it always keeps.