Lake Harvest

Holly Meade

Lake Harvest

Down on the flat of the lake

Out on the slate and the green,

Spotting the border of Erie's sleeping robe of silver-blue changeable silk,

In sight of the shimmer of silver-blue changeable silk,

In the sun,

The men are sawing the frosted crystal.

Patient the horses look on from their sleighs,

Patient the trees, down from the bank, darkly ignoring the sun.

Each saw sings and whines in a grey-mittened hand,

And diamonds and pieces of a hundred rainbows are strewn around.

Raymond Knister

Absolutely beautiful description. Real life is poetry when translated by someone like Knister. Poets have my respect for this reason - we need help to see beauty - sometimes poems are our only alchemy.