Ripples of Youth

The oars dipped into the glassy sheet,

As sunlight kissed the water’s feet,

A child’s hands, so small, so free,

Grasped the wood, with glee, with glee.

Each stroke a dance, a song unsung,

With every pull, the boat was swung,

Across the lake, so wide, so still,

A world of dreams, a life fulfilled.

The shoreline faded, soft and slow,

As ripples curved in rhythmic flow,

A path of light, a gentle guide,

That led the way where secrets hide.

The trees stood tall, their shadows cast,

Like guardians of the ancient past,

Their leaves would tremble with each breeze,

A whisper, soft, of histories.

The water mirrored skies above,

A canvas brushed with clouds and love,

And in that quiet, endless space,

Reflections formed a child’s grace.

The years would pass, the child grow old,

Yet in the heart, those moments hold,

A truth as clear as Otsego’s tide,

That life’s first lessons never hide.

For in the pull of oar to shore,

Is found the rhythm evermore,

Of how to navigate the day,

And find a way, and find a way.

So when the winds of change do blow,

And life’s vast currents ebb and flow,

Remember, there’s a boat within,

To row, to row, through thick and thin.

The lake may change, the child too,

But memories remain in view,

Of days spent learning how to steer,

Through calm and storm, through hope and fear.

And as the sun sets on the lake,

A gentle peace, no heart can fake,

For in those ripples, old and new,

Lies all the wisdom we once knew.

Postscript:

This poem captures the essence of childhood memories, offering a surreal and thoughtful reflection on the enduring lessons learned through rowing a boat.