Suspended by the lake,
\na hundred seasons of green silence.
\nLawns of rough grass
\nand unpaved lane.
\nA pier extending into the water.
\nThe ripple of sand
\nvisible under the slack of waves.
\nEverything is un-ironed.
\nRough milkweed
\ngrowing out of the sand.
\nVines scrawling over the seawalls.<\/p>\n
Children running along the shore.
\nWhat time is it?
\nThe clock has stopped its annoying pace.
\nThe century has not written
\nits corrosion on this unscarred place
\nof white cottages.
\nFaces and walls of beautiful simplicity.
\nVerandas, where people are lounging
\nindifferent to a world
\npassing them by.<\/p>\n
Mary looks eagerly
\nfor a childhood friend,
\nand the idyll of a summer
\nfrom her youth.
\nIt is here.
\nI hear it in the reflection
\nof her voice.<\/p>\n
The delight of a child
\nfinding a lost and treasured toy.
\nI feel her joy
\nlike a breeze coming from the water.
\nThe sound made by the lake.
\nThe clarity of a mirror.
\nWine sipped
\nafter sitting in its cask,
\nand released to the tongue.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Suspended by the lake, a hundred seasons of green silence. Lawns of rough grass and unpaved lane. A pier extending into the water. The ripple…<\/p>\n