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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 13, 2018

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Submitted: August 13, 2018



A melted Halo of silver at rest,

Her name: Lake Maligne.

The picture of the sky possessed,

Like a mirror in Her ring.


Bull moose tamed at liquid bliss,

Drinking from the Pool.

The Water revived at the creatures’ kiss,

Shattered into jewels.


Arms outstretched, fingers pointed down,

And from above he looked,

“Look at the Lake!” a child pronounced,

But his parents both mistook.


In the Jasper Skytram hovered,

Toward the Whistlers’ Summit,

“The moose are lovely,” performs his mother,

His father’s fingers drumming.


The Victoria Cross ranges written,

An autograph in the sky.

Pyramid Mountain, the last swipe of the pen,

A finale by its height.


Firs lunged in coniferous ascent,

Thirsting for Olympus.

Their shadows penciled on the rivers’ bends,

While peaks soared to nimbus.


They would not find the heavens soon,

The child thought in quiet.

Because looking for the Fountain of Youth,

Will only serve to dry it.


Perhaps the answer to all their strife,

Is dancing at their roots.

Like Mother and Father, drinking wine,

Forgetful of the fruit.


Because those with eyes that recognize life,

See the Lake and not the moose.

© Copyright 2019 R.J. Tedders. All rights reserved.

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