Small Cabins For Rent On Lovegrove Lake

Small Summer Cabins for Rent on Lovegrove Lake by Barbara C. Agarwal I left my chance when A chance I did not take When I saw you long, long ago At Lovegrove Lake. Do you remember per chance also, Me perched on the wee porch there? Me, dangling my silver sandal? And sipping my white wine with care? The blue chiffon band of my straw hat Blowing in the river-lake air? Me, sitting on a pink-coral rocking chair? Me, focused and scratching out a poem to share? You stood tall and out on the river dock Of the lake. You stood wide-shouldered, as I recall: A happy stranger, fishing, leaning against The railing of the driftwood-grey quay. I could hear you whistling, though afar. I can hear you whistling still, by the song I was won: “once there were valleys, Kissed by the sun....” Then—after some secret bless-ed Moments of wonderful watching I saddened to hear The Four Brothers' Notes and your whistling cease. But then you drew yourself together With a sigh, to return To your cabin, near and yet far: Up the hill from mine, Drew near enough you did On the brown graveled path, Near enough that I could see The smiling creases aside Both your boyish brimming Brown eyes, barely shaded by Your beaten tan angler's hat, And you were coming my way In that plaid musky-looking fishing shirt, (Your rod used like a shepherd's staff, With the metal lure clanking --ting-tinging-- Against your pail) you were coming my way Near enough to me that I Might smell that primal scent Some sensuous men emit After their hard days' work. About to pass me by, You slowed your step. You paused. Perhaps just for breath? Or was it just long enough to wink That well-and-wanting wink at me? I smiled but put my eyes back to page. You then continued up the way To your cabin More far away than hope. It was then I think That I stopped living Or began dying from lost delights: Reveries of what-might-have-beens, There by Lovegrove Lake On that Tuesday afternoon. “Gone are the greenfields.../ Where rivers used to run.”