I walk the lake


I walk  the lake

At Oldtown

Where a tingling leaf

Is glistening

Wild flowers are busy growing

On the pathway

An empty needle

Someone searching for oblivion

I sit and look

Into the river

Thistle in love with a thorn bush

I breathe the moist air

Listen to the chatter in the hedges

Wait for the kingfisher

To leave a trail of blue behind.