The Lake.

The lake, the lake in early morn
As sorrowful as deep
I sit upon the shallow edge
Where the willow stands to weep

Dressed now in cold and swirling mist
The sky still cool and grey
Silence bites the very soul
While reeds in motion sway

A boat against the jetty bumps
A rhythmic hollow sound
As if calling out for company
But there's no one else around

The piles are green with algae
That hangs like mermaids hair
Stretching for the water
To escape the drying air

Soon this place will ring with laughter
To the tune of childrens glee
But I will still remember
When it was just the lake and me.



Poetry by penfold18
Read 607 times
Written on 2007-03-19 at 12:33

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normalil
A lovely record of one of life's special moments...
2007-05-12


Rob Graber
Most attractively pensive; I like especially the similes in stanzas 3 and 4!
2007-03-19


lastromantichero The PoetBay support member heart!
This poem is a must for the editors choice it is a lovley rhythmical atmospheric masterpiece well done rgds Mike
2007-03-19