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Lying on my back, in a little rowboat,
I drift across a small lake in spring,
The sun reflects on the waters,
Sparkling drops from the fish feeling free.
Green grasses to the west slowly turn to reeds,
Welcoming the water, destroying the barrier.
Ethereal sounds prevent the boresome silence,
From creating a paranormal paranoia.
The wind picks up and I change direction.
Now, rotating toward the left,
I head towards a channel,
Here the tree branches become my roof,
Shading my eyes from the sun,
Enveloping me, like a mother,
Envelopes her young from the cold,
And slowly rocks her child to sleep.


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