The Rewilding Of The Swan Hotel by Carole Martin

Buddleia, brambles, and rose bay willow herb,
The weeds of dereliction in their prime,
Encrust and swaddle, like a babe, the Swan.
The roofs and windows creak with passing time.

Take care. It isn’t safe for humans now.
But other life is here; it scurries and ticks.
Kittens are born, hushed, in the rotting porch;
The mother, thin and scrawny, purrs and licks.
Buddleia grows from the roof, and by the door;
Its purple blossom brings the butterflies,
And like a spill of silk the sunlight falls
Through random gaps, opening to the skies.

Through all these years, we barely see the Swan
Rewilding gently there across the way.
We work, we worry, and we organise,
And at the Swan, the weeds and wildness play,