STILLNESS

Great beauty is not forsaken
It lives on
In the breaking of bleakness
By the sun rising
O’er a misty, glass-smooth pond
The stillness broken gently
By the wake
Of a solitary duck
Traversing the blue-black water.
Reflecting that orb of bright day
Which rises, and reaches for its zenith
The tarn glows, titian and pink:
The lone mallard has vanished,
The ripples of its passing
Dissipating once again
Into smooth
Stillness