The poetry of Deb Genatossio: A Sense of Place

The Lake by Deb Genatossio

The Lake is unruffled
reflecting a few clouds above it .
The silence is broken by the quick call of the Chickadee,
then lay again like a calming hand on the air.

Relaxed I roll on my back to enjoy this perfection.
The grass is soft and smells fresh.
Overhead the Maple offers a half shade,
its black branches touched with young tender leaves.
Through the spreading cluster of trees, Dogwood bloom white.
I almost forget there’s any place else in the world.


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