REFLECTIONS

Dog days at hand,
   as Sirius finds its perch
Soon, I’ll hear the melody
   from a little wooden church.

Past the grassy pasture,
   beyond the field of sod
People will gather to sing
   And praise the living God.

"Lucky 13" or a swivel bait,
    that’s what it’ll be for me
As Sirius dims low and faint
    And the Sun peaks over a tree.

Placing my gear beside the birch,
    I take my seat at the pond.
Reflections, I am fishing for !--
    where man and nature bond.

I tossed a stone into the pool,
     to hear its wanting thud
Circles of life rose and fell
    and were eaten by the mud.

The first ring I saw had flakes
     and glistened like golden hay
It ran dashing toward the shore 
     then idly paled away.

The second ring I saw,
     grew bigger than the one before
It stood tall -and spoke some words
     before crashing on the shore.

The third ring I saw reached
     to hold things in its hand
Drawing close to wipe their tears
    before fading in the sand.

The fourth ring had depth of glass
     and roses on its hedge
Lines of life with beauty untold
     as it faded to the edge.

In the pond I’ve cast not one,
     my body gives a quiver
Music echoes across the field -
    "Shall we gather, at the river"

Barnum Taylor © 1998