The old crab apple's gnarly branches,
So ragged, have lost their fruit.
Things are strange today…
at the pond.
The sun shines so bright,
And the tall emerald pines’
Whisper on the powdery sky –
As the subtle wave of a carpish fin
Sends rippling gulps of stagnant water
Across the dying pond of summer's remorse.
© 1999 Jim Cain