On Waking At The Lake Poem by Dr. Charles A Stone

Come sit with me on the beach
where the lake's many faces
hide beneath the boughs
of willow trees in shade
as thick as seaweed,

or sit with me in my boat
on early mornings and watch
fog slow-dance across
a surface polished by
last evening's cool breeze

while night dreams crept
around the tents pitched
carefully in the woods
of the campsite and we slept
in our downy beds.

Then we might understand
why we come to this place
year after year with dusty eyes
and leave with a clear vision
of our place in the universe