Quiet Pond 1962 Poem by Terry Collett

Pond's quiet,
you said,
as we lay on the grass
by the pond
under the afternoon sun.

Yes, unusual,
I said.
And it was
most unusual;
usually there were ducks
and swans and moor hens
gliding expertly across
the water's skin.

I would, you said,
but I can't:
it's Mother Nature's week.

They say you need oxygen
to climb Mount Everest,
and to cope
with the beauty of you,
I needed oxygen too;
not just your eyes and smile
and lips and body and hair,
but all of you,
capturing my eyes
and stare.

Life is precious,
not always understood
until it's gone
into the great gulf
of death. Your death
years later swallowed by cancer,
took me back to the pond
and us and the summer of kisses.

We lay on our backs
and gazed at the sky.
Our hands touched,
the birds of sky witnessed us,
flew overhead.

They still fly,
but you are dead.