Ripples In the Pond
Tiny little waves linger on top of grandma’s pond,
they wrinkle and crimp with each shift of water-
Of this reverie on Lake Michigan I’ve always been fond,
and now I get to travel there and show my daughter.
Ruffles and ridges, pleats without an end in sight,
such beautiful movement in each corrugation-
You should see the rush in the fresh morn’ light,
they billow and shine, what a wonderful creation.
Gathering together like momma’s quilt made by hand,
furrowing and folding with each adoring dimple-
I remember watching the pond from the dry land,
man, life used to be so serene, so completely simple.
I’d sink my toes in the pebbles while feeling the ebb flow,
gentle motions of the water arising up to my calf-
We’d sing and dance with each surges high and low,
the tingling sensation always made us giggle and laugh.
Tiny little waves linger on top of grandma’s pond,
each ripple setting the scene for the next stream-
Back then my sisters and I shared such a great bond,
now those ripples are nothing but a long-lost dream.
August 29, 2017
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