The gentle sun is creeping low

Along it’s Winter arc

The ground is damp with fallen leaves

At peaceful, Lakeside Park

 

Birds have built a house of twigs

High in the brilliant oaks

And crows are playing, tree-to-tree

Perhaps they’re telling jokes

 

Across the lake, the distant peaks

Lay soft against the sky

And icy crystals start to form

The patterned clouds, so high

 

A cold and steady, gentle breeze

Arriving from the North

Now stirs the grass at water’s edge

As Winter marches forth

 

These, my favorite, quiet, days

Will soon turn cold and dark

‘Till Spring and I return again

To peaceful, Lakeside Park

 

This poem was written in dedication to a place that has inspired much of my work.

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