Reflections of clouds
rest on silent waters
disappearing in ripples
as little breezes speak to the fishes'
swimming in schools
darting this way and that,
mesmerizing the watcher
into an enchanting melancholy daze.
The cork floats motionless
near the edge of a fallen tree
resting in the shade
of the tiny pond's wood lined shore
as the worm's warm heartbeat quietly fades
from this life to another
and Fate shines on him
bestowing all the glory of a fallen king.
And the Watcher,
perched upon his stump,
oblivious to the marvelous,
nods in sleepy jerks
as his hat slips from the smoothness of his hairless head,
tipping freedom's rain
to call on earthy beating hearts
that wriggle away, unbeknownst to him.