The Old Pond

An old pond full of plops with jumping fish and Bobber drops From my pole, As I cast a line I sit to watch the clouds blow by A snapping turtle rises up His leathery head, like a log He takes a breathe then slips below A trail of bubbles as he goes And the frogs leap to and from Singing songs of clicks and croaks "Spring peepers" we used to call For they announce the winters thaw Even the trees now seem alive Their woody branches stretching high Towards the sun to soak it in Their leaves rustling with the wind The grasses along its outer flanks Drift and flow like green sea waves And wild flowers wave hello As bumble bees feed on nectar flows Today's a day I meant for work But changed my mind and off I took To sit beside this old pond Of which I've grown so very fond