Lost

DESOLATE and lone
All night long on the lake
Where fog trails and mist creeps,
The whistle of a boat
Calls and cries unendingly,
Like some lost child
In tears and trouble
Hunting the harbor's breast
And the harbor's eyes.
- 'Lost' Carl Sandburg

An adolescent moorhen on the canal - I think it might have been calling for it's mother. Another snap here and here.