Lake Dorian is drying up
turning to mud,
then the dust of spring.
Puddled rain no longer
covers collected debris.
Squirming polliwogs collect
no attentive boys
who now skid their bikes in the mud.
A season is over.
Lake Dorian is drying up.
On your first day of school
I christened it " Lake Dorian."
You believed me
and you told your teacher
you owned a lake.
I told you that you
were grandpa's girl.
You believed me
and you told your teacher.
Now comes a season with you not here.
Your lake is drying without you.
But there are also seasons
where you are somewhere else
and in this season
we sit in Rugby stands.
No lake.
No teacher.
And you no longer say that you
are grandpa's girl.
You tell me how
this Rugby is played.
and when to cheer.
I am a stranger
in these stands.
And when hero comes off the field
and sits in front of us,
your hands rub his neck and shoulders.
I look away for the hands and neck
are not strangers.
Lake Dorian was drying up for us,
and you were grandpa's girl.
But that season is over.
and a season begins.
And seasons change.
Lake Dorian is drying up.
A Change In Seasons