Lively flowerbed on the canal’s still blue,
the sun-specks, vivid and frolicsome, flicker,
now sudden irises, dressed in gold knickers,
now up-flipped arrowheads, golden in hue:
they’re conjured from sight, fast-darting and zipping
from top to ripple-top; when they’re at play,
you once glimpse them, snake-like, a twining ray,
glinting and greasy, between two waves slipping.
A hostile, grey-bristling, shuddering blot
bounds forward with shadow-beak grimly squat
to disturb the frenziedly sparkling floor:
dull-silver harebells all bob there afloat,
a golden rain drifts on blue-crystal moat;
and the flowerbed dances, noiseless once more.
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