The Spirit of the Lake
The spirit of the lake
calls out with the cries
of seagulls that fly above the water
as they pass through the small town
on their way to the ocean.
She wishes they would stay.
The heart of the lake
beats with the tiny waves
that ripple across her chest
on a calm sunny afternoon
after the first harvest.
The days grow shorter with each passing moment.
She wishes they wouldn't.
The soul of the lake
dances with the children
who splash and swim in her water.
Their happiness echoes through a warm summer breeze
that rustles the leaves on a blooming Rose of Sharon.
She wishes this moment would last forever.
The voice of the lake
can be heard with the quacking of the Mallard who swims alone
or the quiet whistles of the beautiful mute swan,
who glides across the waves,
faithfully at the side of his mate.
She wishes she could follow them.
The laughter of the lake
can be heard with the children
when they build castles on her shore,
building dreams,
dreams that only live in young imaginations.
She fills their carefully dug holes with her water
and watches tiny boats and super heroes float by.
She wishes she could play with them.
She weeps with tremendous sorrow
as an empty pepsi can is thrown callously
into her water,
bobbing up and down on her tiny waves,
her blood,
her heart,
her life.
The mallard tries to eat it,
but quickly realizes it isn't food.
She wishes -
more than anything else -
they would stop doing this.
She speaks,
she dances,
she laughs,
she plays,
she builds,
she weeps.
her water flows like blood through a vein,
but no one notices.
She wishes they would.
If they looked around with their eyes open,
if they were very quiet,
they would hear her speak.
She is real;
She is alive -
she is the spirit of the lake.
She wishes they would listen,
if only for a moment.
---- August 4, 2002
copyrighted Kelli Sposato, 2002
All Rights Reserved
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