On the Severn, by Peter G. Shilston

 Suddenly my wife said, "Look!"

and I turned to glimpse
a tiny flash of

sapphire and gold

fly under the bridge
but not out the other side.

Many times we returned to that bridge.
hoping to see him again
perched motionless on a twig
scanning the river below for 
minnows and sticklebacks,
then diving, an iridescent meteor,
into the brown waters.

But he never came back. 

Despite his gaudy costume

miniature regal pomp

he cared nothing for public display 

This tiny predator 

wasn't there for our benefit

He existed only for himself

King of fishers, King of the river

He cared for us only

if we hindered his fishing.
.