Of Course, the Water Is Still – Sunday Whirl 411

Of course, the water is still.
By the shores of that lovely lake,
I find only ruins of my own oath
melted down to a puddle –
no shimmer, no chime in it.

Short of breath, it’s just a sorry sign
beaten down,
groaning with the low ripple of the lake.

© MK, 2019

Written for Brenda’s Sunday Whirl where many great fellows contribute words of poetry.

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3 replies on “Of Course, the Water Is Still – Sunday Whirl 411”

  1. Ooooooh sweet girl .. gorgeous in its melancholy … ‘groaning with the low ripple of the lake” please keep writing .. missed your voice

    • soul mary says:

      Pearl, so nice to see you visit! Glad you liked it. I write so seldom these past 6 years, that I hardly believe I can do it again. Just every now and then, I find the words. Not very fine results, usually, but practice makes perfect and I’m dreadfully out of practice.
      Thanks for stopping by! Love, M.

  2. Sara McNulty says:

    “I find only ruins of my own oath.”

    Love that line.

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