Virgin Lake Poem by JAMES T. ADAIR

a virgin spring fed lake
feed a meandering steam
that runs over polished rocks

A tin cup hangs by a tree branch
left by hikers
where crystal clear water pools

The forest is thick and rich
And smells like loam and moss
The moose in the distance grunts

We stop for a drink of the ice cool water
All is still and quiet now
The only sound is your beauty

The only guide forward or back is the stream
sunlight filters through the trees and catches your eyes
highlighting all the colors inside of you

Our eyes meet and you bring the cup to me
I drink from it and see your tired loving eyes
I kiss your soft hand and you kiss mine

Not a word is spoken as we hug and linger
We kiss so gently and then I help you with your pack
We follow the river back to the cabin

We try to make it before dusk
when the loons call upon the lake
as the moon chases the firey orange sunset