Lake Scene
The flat lake was as misty
as the new born stork,
and the dawn air smelt
of the grass in the breeze
gently nodding.
The long low light
was a hollow as night,
and horizon high clouds
drawn like cobwebs of red
gently drifted.
All awhile,
in the calm of the grey.
All awhile,
in the arms of the day.
In the sound of the insects,
like a chorus of strings,
in the stroke of the yellowing hay.
In the rest of the nest,
in the hollows of reeds,
in the wetness and naked he lay.
The still air was welcome
as the crack of display,
and black lines,
like brush strokes
in the distance, approached.
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