Slouched back in the gravel,
The darkened lake rests,
A slight pitter patter,
Muse still and quiet lest,
The Wind rises soon,
Northeast under the waxing southern moon.

Violet surrounding a pitch perfect pearl,
An agony to the flowers beginning  to unfurl,
Wind slides a gray tundra over to cover,
The cathedral sky,
The rising sun,
like burdened lover.
Pioneer leaves jump from the treetops and fly,
Slow dirge of grey blustery day rises the tide.

Light of mirth to the water’s surface,
Twirling with their partners,
Glide with silent pertinence.
The forces that make them happy martyrs,
Phases music in the distance,
Carousel of fallen pigments.


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