Still Waters
It is across the still water’s discern,
That vision dreams the field unseen,
And hazy windows lamplight burn,
Yellow squares through snowing screen,
Behind which well-thumbed pages turn.
In the depths so black and blue,
Crawl sleeping fish with mouths hook torn,
Who plot revenge on anglers who
Sought to extract them and their spawn,
Then memory loss prevails anew.
And on the crest of surface waves,
Hooks and lines and sinkers crowd
To jostle like rebellious slaves,
And tangle round the muddy clouds
Of sighing reeds and watery graves.
Where the still waters run so deep
And morning mist peels from the glass,
The keen of farmyard canines sweep,
And shadowed boots tramp through the grass
To wake the centuries from their sleep.
It is upon the still water’s face
Image develops a scene of ages,
Never in stasis but changing apace,
Fleeting, blurring, elusive, in stages,
Evolution’s reflections of time and space.
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