Unconventional Superiority

I write this poem
not to evoke deep emotions
nor to express my ponderings
over the meaning of life.

No; I simply wish to inform you
perhaps brag, if I may,
about how my day
has been superior to yours.

You see, as I write this,
I am sat on grass greener than green,
softer than anything you could imagine,
overlooking the peaceful river.

Now, I won’t insult you
by romanticising the murky waters,
nor the discarded crisp packet
which lies to my right.

Focus instead on the natural sights;
the swans who play along the riverbed,
their overstretched necks dipping
and spraying glistening droplets of water.

Perhaps the moorhens,
who fly low over the calm waters,
carelessly tossing ripples down the current
as they test the water with a cautious toe.

Or the bubbling water
as it bumps into half-submerged rocks,
following in the footsteps of many before
as it tries to bumble past.

Or the stray greenery
which floats lazily downstream,
dependant on the flow of the current,
oblivious to its final destination.

Or the scents which my nostrils welcome;
the aroma of freshly cut grass lingering
and complementing the fresh air
which the countryside has allowed.

Or the unfamiliar March sun,
which burns down on my legs and back;
a welcome change from the cold
which still resides in my bones.

And the sounds which caress my ears;
the twinkle of the water as it leaves the stream,
the gurgle of the bubbles against the rocks,
the occasional splash from a spare fin.

The birds who call softly to one another,
a harmony of different pitches;
the rustling from the creature nesting
in a nearby oak tree.

Now the flies appear in their droves,
fidgeting as they hover above my head
trying to force their weightless bodies
against the slight breeze.

So you see, as I sit here,
alone before the river,
there is simply no way
that your day can beat mine.

For I have all this before me;
and what have you?