Cold Stream Pond, August Poem by Sidney Wade

lake-water
rushes white
and foamy
through granite

boulders
on its way
to join the great
faraway river

as we sit
in feathered shade
on the rocks
and you teach

me willow herb,
turtle head,
shinleaf, dock,
when quick

you say, look
and a brilliant
pair, jet
and emerald,

thorax and wing,
make a temple
of their segmented
selves in the sun

and the urgent
needs of autumn
hold us all
in thrall