The Pond

Once it used to be our pond in the wild
where we would all bare go to laugh, to dance,
to heal, love, and rant on stones cast by chance,
even if just for an olive-sized while.

Firm before the winds of thunder and hail
lifting tall their crowns to the ruthless sky,
trees full of verdure despite seen awry
with the weight of years gathered at the dale.

Now, the land lips of vagabonds dried out,
and piles laying on a deer lane of sheaf,
scarlet horizons sowed yore asleep sprout

for the rain aught fell and grew thick the leaf,
thereat the veery decided to shout
alone and thin by a shorn tree such grief.