Good Night, Little Pond

She walked to the pond,

The one Dad first took her to at age 9,

That time she caught a pan-fish,

Green-blue & lively;

Tasty, too.

Now she’s returned,

Longing for the moments he shared,

That she naively thought

Would last forever;

They didn’t.

Funny how time fibs,

Whispering, “Why rush? You’ve got

Tomorrow, and the next day,

And the next.”

But you don’t.

Dusk cozies in,

Like the shallow sneak that he is.

(Time’s un-indicted co-conspirator)

Then, “Poof!”

He’s gone.

Pond & sky kiss,

One last eternal

“Good-bye,”

As night’s dark cloak slowly unfolds,

Like a curtain closing a sad play.

And everyone cries ...

© 2019 j.s.lamb