It must be just a state of mind,
but to think it is to do it.
The urge to get away and find,
an out of the way secret pond,
is an irresistible force,
for which there is but one answer.
Let your imagination be your guide,
let your child like urge get you there.
Throw off the winters discontent,
with the first breath of spring,
and find what incredible
pleasure it will bring.
The fruits of expectation
must be your own.
Seek out the secret
ponds in the mountains.
Do it quickly, very quickly,
those secret places are
born, grow, and die, in the
twinkle of an eye these days.
The fruits of natures labors
are sought, reaped, and
harvested by other eager men.
By the time i get there
i find the secret out of the way
ponds are gone, secrets no more.
I know before i begin the search,
the place is nestled deep
in a stand of yellow birch,
where two splits of ridge neck down
to a small chuckling, laughing brook.
The wild beaver have created
digs here, for their long
winter under the ice.
Continuously rebuilding the dam,
carving out their life from the forest,
but even the beaver change.
The little ponds don’t last forever.
So, i love to get out to the
out of the way secret places
while i am able,
before i fade away and die,
like the little secrets of nature.
My Blog~Mystical Poetry, Prose, and Political Viewpoints