Another poem for the outdoors
Late Summer Lakeside Sweetest tranquility, Come to the lake a little after nine, Where the water is cool, and fine. Not a ripple, And not a sound But the gentle call of a loon, Helloooo, they seem to say. Slowly in I wade, The chilly surface rising, Until at last I dive, An icy blast, Bubbles... Sign in to see full entry.