Aubade
By mark_yelland-brown
- 292 reads
Sunset mist hanging over a lake at dawn,
The give underfoot, achingly green grass underneath.
A canopy of branches, dripping with dew,
The softened blur of constant bird life,
The breathing out of hot damp vapour trails.
The being part of waking dawn nature,
Every moment seemingly frozen in time;
The Lake is beginning to ripple with fish,
And it’s our time again.
The silent fishers stare at their floats,
Sometimes seeing, sometimes just gazing into the moment.
Their rods extended like tender feelers,
Waiting to whip and slash the sweet sharp pointed hook.
While in their keep nets, disturbed in proximity,
Their living trophies, dreadfully still.
The first buzzing insects offer up their drone,
Mid-morning brings wide, daylight vision,
And the Lake seems tame, not so serene.
It’s the Lake in its depths that still hides the dark,
Deep tangled weeds and those ancient fish,
That glide turning sleek, and sun reflecting;
The glimpse of their length and breadth, nearly surfacing.
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