The parks are ours
No matter what the signs say
Though the crunch of the woodland
calls from far away
calls us to hunt, to gallop on through
fields, mud and marshes
double-sniff around of favourite lake too.
We pad the tarmac
plod the concrete
whether the sky is day-pink or dusk-black
we will walk together
and sometimes you’ll chat aloud to me
I’ll take in each warm word
even as I feel the oosh of the sea.