A Painting

As flagrant ripples tore the lake

Betwixt last night and morn,

I stood before a towering bank 

And watched the waves take form. 

They grew with grace and power and ease,

And like the moon they towered, 

And not a flicker of light could I see

Beyond their spiderweb bower. 

They threatened to fall, 

And I being me was quite beside myself;

But "Oh!" I said: they lingered so tall!

And you being you were poised and possessed.

 

You held my hand as we stood there,

Betwixt the night and the morn;

You gazed at our ominous future

And never uncertainty let soar;

I trembled and whispered a prayer—

My heart was a wreck of a score—

Then we heard the sweet music of hope flair

And awaited the wakening dawn.

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