The Pond Has Gone

Like a huge, half-dried tear
Sat in autumn’s tired lap,

A sad, wet question,

A muddy saucer swilling
The backwash of neglect,

All life has withered from this pond
And all it’s left is a gentle trace,

The paw prints of scuttling rats,
Frog bellies and curious badgers,

A glint of orange fox hair
And a single heron feather.

As dying ferns drop
Their tears of dew into the mire,

A parade of ghostly sparrows
Arrive and then leave,

The rain waves in grey,
The wind almost mourns,

The demure grimace of a cat
Hovers on a distant fallen wall,

And I back step out of a thought
Before a memory’s reborn.

One Response to “The Pond Has Gone”

  1. This is a new direction is it not? A lyrical sadness that marshals a fine range of images. A truly superb poem.

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