They said I should not swim within the lake
But summer’s storm, so slowly rolling on,
Still distant seemed. I would, of course, be gone
Before some lightning bolt threatened to make
Water steam and boil, or maybe take
My life. I dove down deep, as if to don
The entirety of the lake upon
Myself. Embraced, a dream yet wide awake.
Now once again, the winter come, they say,
In warning: “The ice is soft. Do not skate.”
There were no cracks that could be seen. A sleigh
Had left some solid marks. It held its weight,
Why not mine? Below the ice, dark and gray,
Lay an embrace of a similar fate.
But summer’s storm, so slowly rolling on,
Still distant seemed. I would, of course, be gone
Before some lightning bolt threatened to make
Water steam and boil, or maybe take
My life. I dove down deep, as if to don
The entirety of the lake upon
Myself. Embraced, a dream yet wide awake.
Now once again, the winter come, they say,
In warning: “The ice is soft. Do not skate.”
There were no cracks that could be seen. A sleigh
Had left some solid marks. It held its weight,
Why not mine? Below the ice, dark and gray,
Lay an embrace of a similar fate.
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