Strolling by lake Windermere
one fine Spring day,
I watched the breeze caress the mere
as it went on its merry way.
On a passing thought
I hired a rowing boat
and set out for the far shore,
confident and self-sure.
I rowed across the lake,
Stopped for a break,
caught a glimpse of my reflection,
and was filled with trepidation.
Confidence deserted me,
fear got hold of me,
oh, why did I act on a whim,
when I knew I couldn't swim?
My knuckles turned white
as I tightly gripped the ores,
and murmuring quiet payers,
I rowed back with all my might.
It is now 48 years since Windermere
and I had our first encounter.
It will be many more years, I am sure,
before we will have a second encounter.
The Lake and I remain friends at a distance.
I often drive close by,
stop then wave goodbye,
but never visit my friend at a distance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem