The Lake

I sat in my little rowboat
So far into a lake
And, Oh! thought I;
How far was I!
For I could not even see distant shadows.
And I wondered for a moment,
In my gently rocking boat-
Had it always been this way?
I turned my face towards heaven
And took in a deep breath
That smelled of murky water and fresh air.
Holding on gently to the still oars
I looked around,
The moon and stars shining on the surface of the water.
My grip on the coarse wooden oars tightened.
I continued on,
Surrounded only by the dull plop plop plopping as wood hit water.
I licked the flavor of lemonade off my lips
Which had been there since lunch,
And whistled for a moment
Until I decided the silence was better.
I knew this lake well,
And I knew I could not become lost;
So I was not afraid.
I travelled on until my oars scraped earth.
I pulled the boat through the cool water
And tied it to the dock.
Then, alone, as I usually was,
I laid down with the warm dirt on my back.
I closed my eyes,
The bent boughs of the willow tickling my face,
But I could not-
No matter how hard I tried-
Imagine a scene more beautiful than the one
I had seen with my eyes open.