The Lake
Summer green lights the
new-born grass, clinging
to the river side like a child
to its mother.
Swans glide.
Rippling surface, distorted reflection
of blue sky, whispers of clouds amongst
the clear perfection.
Murky depth to muddy waters, dead
leaves from the past, caress
the surface.
Shadows squirm in the
depths, blind to the world
above the surface, light
trickles through but touches nothing.
The End
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
The Lake, which
was posted on Jun 6, 2011 by
FallenFromGrace.
This is a solo poem.
About this poem
"The scene of a lake in spring"
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