Wastwater in the Lakes

The golden sheen embossed the Summer sky,

while swimming through the crystal waters fresh,

and time itself goes ever trundling by,

dancing, rhythmic thro’ transcendental flesh.

Could love and peace, so tranquil, be as days,

of perfect, playful, light and symmetry?

Is testament enshrined in glist’ning rays

to bounce anon flights of youthful fancy?

Why Yes! For surely heaven’s hosts adore,

with laughter, that which floods and swells our breasts,

in time we spent upon the rocky shore,

of Wastwater; gentle rippling ne’er rests.

The hardest choice I ever made: to go,

to leave that place where mem’ries mirrors flow.