Mist Song
The waves lick the pier-deck beams,
a boat has passed upon the lake
to shuffle the song upon the wind,
ebbing whooshes.....
The smoky waters still to tease
slow with ancient whispers,
The Loon leads upon the woody melody,
some sylvan songster
too beautiful to languish,
still sleeping....
Not floating upon the dawn
through misted peace;
all ears have heard
the first kiss of throngs,
Gentle as waves upon the tide,
from the very earth it seems....
the sweet haunting cry
echoes souls through silts
leagues deep,
The very marrow of stone,
and pine and leaf,
A morning hushed but for its
pretty plea, a male perhaps
(so tender with feminine appeal)
They all call so, pillowed
their first-light throngs,
Angels upon the deep billowed morn,
Where the very clouds above
have seemed to hover
above the lake along,
Their soothing cry
fills the waking wood....
hushed waters, still as stars
feeds the twilight with song
(pining through hovering hats of mist)
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