Wild Swans

They come, those time old wanderers
From Arctic isles afar,
From the frozen wastes of Kolguet,
And the lands where no men are.

Across the white-capped ocean,
Through hail and sleet and snow,
To the old, wide east coast marshes,
Where the grey tides ebb and flow.

On English shores they winter
Till the field fares leave in spring
Then north for the Arctic summer
On urgent, beating wing.


Poem by Hugh Tetlow