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LAKE LULLABY
There are nights I take a pallet to the porch,
screened-in top to bottom for a peerless,
solitary panorama of emerald grass sloping
to rippling lake, protected from threat
of varmints, a resident reptile or two,
known to favor unattended pets, the smaller
the better. I'm not a mouthful morsel,
I'm here for the choral prayer of froglets, their
deep-voiced granddaddies, petitioning God,
however perceived in the gentle persuasion
of wind, and lilting water music.
I understand, now, in the second half
of life, why, after my father's traitor heart
took him away, my young, widowed
stepmother, (this from memory's vault,)
took her lawn chair down to the sea
to sleep at night for palliative care
seasoned with salt.
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