Some might say this lake a mere pond
five acres is all, and that's not a lot.
But the lake holds wonders that I do behold
stories I'm sure that have yet to be told.
The wild rose that climbs the cottage on shore
blooming up to the roof and across the porch floor.
Haunted some say this house is at night
the moon through the windows, a ghost of the light.
Creaking and cracking at all times of day
the cottage that sits on the shore of the lake.
Within the water that's the color of coffee
trees bare of life stand tall in the offering.
A home to the birds who wake me each morning
color on the trees, nature's way of adorning,
the stark sentinels that have no other charm
save the cardinals, bluejays, and egrets on arm.
Small islands appear in the midst here and there
ducks with their babies in spring everywhere
enough noise to wake even the deepest in sleep
there are even in season some canadian geese.
All of this makes up the lake where I live
the joy and the splendor that it daily gives
displayed just for you with words I now write
I hope that this painted a picture of sight.

WhiteRose 10/04/02