The Lake

Where the blue shimmers at sunset’s breath, And the dawning sky wakes in bright delight, The lake, asleep, lies still beneath, With a mirror to the great expanse of night.

There, the birch trees stand like sentinels, Guarding secrets, tales of long ago, Reflecting softly the evening’s bells, While the fish glide deep where the shadows go.

In such a world of gentle grace and calm, Each ripple speaks of wisdom, truth— The lake, it whispers sweetly like a psalm, Of nature’s soul, forever in its youth.

• AJM Smith