The prying air blew from yonder,
Ensconcing me with humid spray;
From chill – snugging me asunder,
I clothed, as I reached the Lake Esse.
Ripples made by hasty dragonflies,
Making stir, reach the brims of shores;
Only spectators – spying frogs’ eyes,
Record signal scenes for folklores.
Trickling, dripping, slithering on stones,
Water torrents cut my wee repose;
Birds’ chirping – in a gamut of tones,
Remind me of my diurnal pose.
I trod along a worn, untrodden pier,
Still water let me see the riverbed,
Seeing through – I saw ME – clear,
Worlds apart from me who’s bred.