Coots in their dark black suits
drift up and down the fast
flowing river in the rain.
Never once do they complain
at the vagaries of the weather
or their lot. But rather, accept their fate,
and, like corks, bob up and down,
hence move in two planes,
despite the intensity of the pressing
rains.
I admire the Coot, a bird of courageous
mould: it takes more than a thorough
downpour to make them less than
bold.
