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Give me a vernal pond, and
an empty grove
And in the morning sun
all my sorrows will quietly disperse,
Like downy seeds on the wind;
As to the angry Don,
all rage I’ll cede,
sure the great river’s reasons
are even more heart-rending.
My lesser ire always vanishes
in beds of white trilliums and bluebells . . .
As they would this great day;
But a noisy ‘pecker was hammering long and hard
at a tall impassive blond
The wood –
Weak against the strong beak –
turned my mind to Miles,
in defiance of my earlier behest.
Then, as if to apologize,
Nature brought me between the trees
to a shy little black pond
resolutely fighting Winter’s chill.
And if I was seduced,
Worse were the swooping mallards
who dove in together
and proceeded to throw me the evil eye.
“Alright,” I said, “have it your way!”
But as I pulled away,
I glimpsed a narcissistic sign
which sent me scampering again –
this time toward a drake and his girl,
pecking along the mossy shore.
Right then it dawned on me
that all these flighty creatures are paired;
And I was left wondering, why them and not me?
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