No clouds, waves or wind Only the voices of birds and insects The shore line was littered with stones, Pollen, and other debris Seagulls were floating overhead Looking for an easy meal And on the lookout for predators Looking at them for an easy meal The lake was smooth Almost like an ice-skating rink You could almost imagine the Sounds of happy skaters, but we were Only nearing the end of summer We could not possibly imagine what Was before us in the coming seasons We would have our color tour as Jack Frost, the magnificent artist, would Paint the leaves of the deciduous trees A palette of color, unimaginable Beauty which will diminish our best efforts Then winter will have its say We can only hope that the clippers Will be mild and endurable For now I remember seeing a man swimming A little less than a mile in each direction He was a teacher, a professor, and this Would be his last swim and he looked good By early spring he had gone to his reward Cancer, a quick acting form, had taken him Our mortality supersedes the weather and I am Curious about what happens when we are gone And then the wondering if we succeeded in life Also, will our accomplishments be remembered? Most have no idea of all that has been done Because it was done quietly, silently and by choice Life like the seasons will go on There will be low tides and high tides Sometimes we think we are essential but The grave yards are full of indispensable people We should be aware of this fact Life is a precious gift; it has one season Live it well Stanski September 1, 2021 ^
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Steve Haarman 