Sandygate Lily-pool


The waterlilies floated on the still

Green bosom of the lake, yellow and white

Cups sitting on their rounded velvet pads

Like goblets waiting for a god to fill

With nectar for some Bacchanalian rite,

Some secret revelry of slim Naiads.

The trees, dark sentinels of field and hill,

Looked down, protective in their leafy might,

And urgent with unwritten Iliads.

Time paused, held by some universal will,

Waiting the miracle that reconciled

Creation with its Maker.  Through that hush

Came human voices, an impetuous rush,

And the sweet laughter of a happy child.


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