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On Frensham Pond II
Cool, grass green with a looking glass sheen
The great pond plays it's voluptuous symphonies,
The chitinous summer evening overtures,
Accompany the deep souled serenadings of the frog.
A heron stalks, stiff legged, aloof,
In the tepid shallows of the reed bed.
While the limp and windless sails, cast shadows,
Late, and long, the shade, more refreshing now than our warm lemonade.
Small fish skip and scatter, quicksilver filigree, filled with life.
Casting showers of pearls onto the lily leafed lairs of the Pike, full of death.
We drift on the lake, lazing and loving,
And await the creeping dusk with the cooling caress of the diurnal breezes.
A quarter mile from shore, a ripple approaches,
Improbable, peering and leering with bright jewelled eyes,
Behind the flickering flames of his coal dark tongue,
A young grass snake, green black, liquefied motion personified in liquid.
The serpent has found us, here in our garden of Eden,
His lack of fear confounds us, until he leaves us in the dusk,
Resuming his voyage, he swims on, our silent witness,
Taking with him, our innocence.
