Photo: Poem: Summer Pond

Ronald Bog
Photo by Martin Degrazie

             Summer Pond

       By Cynthia Sheridan

There is a morning ritual between the pond and me
We gently greet each brand new day in grateful company

This day, like every other, I sink slowly in my chair
Yet sense an eerie somberness, a difference in the air

I watch the silver ripples gleam as by the sun they’re kissed
But softly cross the surface creeps a quiet purple mist

The lithe and graceful willow tree reflects a faded green
The lusciousness of hotter days is nowhere to be seen

I fear the faithful equinox has dealt a final blow
The summer pond has met its match, now autumn is on show

A sudden rush of motion coming from a nearby tree
An egret flaps its foolish wings and settles awkwardly

Then, swoosh, the sound of rushing air; a glimpse of feathers white

The egret, like the summer sun, once more has taken flight