Rowing Boat

The sun ascended to its apex high
Traversing dawn’s rich clementine sky
Burning off the morning veil
Of misty haze so thin and frail

That it hung amid the old oak trees
Motionless without a breeze
Ethereal as a silken shroud
And humid as diluted cloud

That rolled in from the verdant shore
To creep across the forest floor
Drawing us to where reeds sweep
And bowed willows gently wither weep

Casting shadows on the surface still
Where drops of morning dew doth spill
And an ancient path of twisted wood
Over the cool deep water stood

With sun-baked timbers haphazardly lain
By long-ago hands as lined as the grain
Crusted with salt that glistened in light
And old fibrous ropes that gave up the fight

On pillars of trunks now dried and split
But to the elements would not submit
And sink beneath the surface down
Into the depths of river-silt brown

Creaking oars in weathered, rusted blocks
Disturbed the surface as if rocks
Had been hurled into the cloistered lake
To placid, glassy serenity break

But for those metronomic sprays
Prismatic in the high sun’s rays
That propelled us from the grassy bank
Out to where all turmoil sank

Where birds sang in full-throated ease
As they joyously danced on the soft, playful breeze
And our audience consisted of a solitary cloud
Carefree about passion spoken aloud

And all that was left was calm and free
A peaceful sense of tranquility
Where we could share a private word
Far away from all the world

Surrounded by numberless shades of green
Motionless as though a painted scene
Where prying eyes could neither see nor hear
And you and I could disappear.