There is no need to proclaim
her scintillating presence.
The air about her is
delightfully pure.
She dresses fashionably
in shades of blue.
Her movements are graceful
as she flows down wind
past stately pines
and leaning birch trees,
lapping boats
anchor to weathered docks.
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Friday, July 11, 2014
BABCOCK LAKE, a poem by Patricia Crandall
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