Sunday, September 23, 2012

Poem of the Week ~ 1


If she had her wish she would be a frog or a fish,
and this lake would be her own.
She would swim each morning a fluid breaststroke,
breaking the unbroken surface
reflecting the green pines of the wood.
It is too early for swimmers yet this year,
yet she is out there alone in the morning mist.
A foghorn booms from beyond two bends,
like a bullfrog calling for a mate to her.
She loves the feel of the surrounding;
she aches for my touch to be less demanding;
I wish for the key to such understanding.
The lake does no more than provide her support,
and warmth enough to glide free for a time.
What man can purport to be this smart,
would forever win the heart of his own heart's desire.

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