Burton Mere Wetlands on the Dee Estuary

Burton Mere

Burton Mere

The winter is over
and spring is here.
With bright green growth
out of water so clear.

A cool blue sky
with a hint of the sun.
Now this is why
new life has begun.
Nature at the mere

Are you the preditor or the prey?
It is so difficult for me to say.
Are you a moth
or the weirdest of flies?
Are you the one stalking
or are you his prize?

Yes, you are big and he is small
but being an insect size isn't all.
His venom is lethal
with legs that are fast.
If you don't move
the dye will be cast!
rhyme traveller spider

How do you manage without falling down?
As those spindly legs are going to town.
Seemingly adhered on the side of a twig
your thread appears as you dance a jig.
Soon that web will in glory appear
hardly seen, with a colour so clear.
So strong it captures the hardiest of prey.
Then you wrap it up for another day.

The Withered Leaf

Still it is a home, just look within.
See the legs and roaming eyes
From deep inside it sits and spies.

Protecting its young, it hides.
Blending into the withered leaf.
Not to be seen its misbelief.
rhyme traveller - burnet butterfly

Burnet Moth

I see you land amongst the grass
just as along the way I pass.
Standing out amongst the crowd
with those colours oh so loud!

You caught my eye most straight away
an obvious moth that flies in the day.
With your colours of the night
you make a very striking sight.

No doubt your red spots are a warning
whether late afternoon or early morning.
Fleeting from flower to flower
as their nectar you devour.

Upon a delicate blade of grass
a mating session it does pass.
Two damselflies making love
with one eye looking up above.
For while they are busy this day
a bird may snatch them both away.

Glueing themselves in a heart shaped form
-which, of course, is just the norm.
All too soon to another spot
then on the water she will squat.
There to leave her fertilised spawn.
She'll be dead before the dawn.
For her cycle is now at an end;
no more time here will she spend.

rhyme traveller snail

The Snail

It's amazing what is hidden away
there by the mere on a summer's day.

Deep in the grasses where it's cool -
there on a nettle - he's no fool!

Far enough down that the birds can't see,
for he doesn't want to become their tea.

He'll stay here until the darkness falls,
then out he comes and on he crawls.

For this is the time for him to consume;
not really bothered what or whom.

Little shoots, withered stems or tasty leaves,
even creatures that are dead he thieves.

All that remains as the morning comes
is a shimmery path and perhaps some crumbs.