“Lizzard Crick” In June

The old crick looks inviting now

     So lazy ‘neath the summer sky;

The water seems to beckon me

     Down where the perch and pickerel lie.

The old scow-boat is on the shore

     And in it baler, oars and pole;

A hungry feeling hovers near

     And takes possession of my soul.

Reflected in its liquid depths

     The hills beyond inverted lie;

While from a dead limb on the shore

     A fish-hawk scans with watchful eye.

No sound is heard, the moments flee,

Oh, bitter-sweet the cup I quaff.

Why don’t I take the boat and go?

     I’m looking at a photograph!

June 25, ‘07