A river of brushing humans in easeful crush Eddying against and flowing by Obstacles of smiling greetings, Washing up on the banks of stalls, Meandering away in billabong queues. A green sward drops off Under the vast shade of the big figs To a road of milling walkers And flashing, yacking cyclists, While the old, old river observes sulkily And turns a brown back on the bright scene. On the sunny grass slack rope, Hand-standing torsos, frisbies, Pooches and toddling children. Bared legs, backs, bellies, Bodies in circles eat and talk Spreadeagled on the grass. From the windless air a lyrical guitar cries “Mary …” The beaming sun shines ‘No, no, no’, No broken pieces of yesterday’s life. My mind’s eye zooms up, up, up, Sees a round earth under blue skies And conviviality everywhere.