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On Frensham Pond
Cool, grass green with a looking glass sheen
The great pond sings to us,
Playing chitinous evening overtures
To the deep souled serenadings of the frog.
A heron stalks, stiff, aloof,
In the shallows amongst the rushes.
While the windless sails give shade,
More refreshing now than our warm lemonade.
Small fish skip and scatter, quicksilver filigree, full of life.
Casting bright showers of pearls
Onto the lily leafed lair of the Pike, full of death.
We drift on the lake, lazing and loving, awaiting the dusk
And the cooling caress of the returning wind.
Then a quarter mile from shore, a ripple approaches us,
Peering and leering with his bright jewelled eyes,
Over the flickering flames of his tongue,
A young grass snake, green black,
Liquefied motion personified in liquid.
The serpent has found us out,
Here in our Garden of Eden,
He leaves us in the dusk and swims on,
Our silent witness,
Taking with him, all our innocence.
