My Pond on a Wintry Day

Clouds taking off their wraps in spite of the chill,
shake down their load on the hills and the pond, until
they shed, into the dark underbrush, an ivory light glancing
at a happy snowflake, inside the whirlwind, dancing,
through a wintry misconception, in the sudden blizzard,
fluttering with the empty gusts, living its existence fully.

Since its life’s short and its art’s long, on the pond,
it finds unexpected omens and an unfathomable bond
with the shadowy water, shuddering into ice,
sealing the fate of the liquid to a frozen surprise,
such as unsaid things lying heavy on the heart.
Strange, to be a flake and not to have pleasures anymore...

The blizzard is over, within the nature’s shell, snow
has curled up in slumber, and on an icy bough,
pearls of high lineage glittering in noble silence,
bleached with the enchanting solitude of elegance.
Without making a sound, winter is homeward bound,
borrowing stillness from reverent thoughts of peace.

Since migrating birds have left, there’s no chatter of late,
the bliss of night fawns upon the pond as a favor of fate,
while shrouded oaks stretch upwards to the stars,
under the full moon snow angels write innocent memoirs.
A saintly dream in serenity draws near to a flawless beauty.
Time runs with a quiet ache inside the pond’s delicate sorrows.

My pond of most intimate confidences, aglow
with empathy, I watch from behind a frosted window,
shimmering, like a diamond, beneath the moonbeams,
this whitewashed vision cloaking its unacknowledged dreams,
such as I, embracing desires of a destiny separate,
to a statue of stone, is singing a lullaby with a heart.