On Miller's Pond


Hawthorne, old Emerson, Henry and I 

Spent last Sunday, after church, skating,

Taking the air, stretching our limbs.

Thoreau, being the sport that he is, showed off 

His skill—pirouetting and leaping, long arms 

Windmilling; Waldo, bent at the waist, 

Cut a fine figure, but cautious, befitting his age, 

While Nathaniel and I circled the pond 

In pleasant repartee; a flask set by a convenient 

Snowbank comforted us from the chill, 

A bit of spirit spreads a satisfactory glow 

Throughout the bones and down to the toes. 

Melville came late, the young pup, eager to please, 

And with little white puffs from his pipe 

Joined in the fun. A handsome group, we, 

I’ll allow, on the clear ice, in the midst of the hills, 

In the lee of the pines, low sun cutting shadows, 

A nip in the air, and the conversation was good. 





Last line after, "and the craic was good"

—Van Morrison


Poetry by jim The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 328 times
Written on 2017-12-04 at 14:22

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
Wonderful to read. A touch of Mark Twain there :)

Wonderful write. Thanks.

A beautiful portrait. Must be like an artistic picnic of great writers.

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Excellent writing.

Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
What an amazing scene! I would love to see a painting with all of the protagonists just as your words have painted them.

I'm there, but can't skate, this has Irish, " the craic" Van Morrison, I can listen to him and good conversation, oh and don't forget the pipe, my father smoked a pipe, not many do these days, thanks!