By Phyllis Beebe
The lake is dark blue crushed velvet
Rippling restlessly in the wind.
A white seagull rises, swoops, re-settles.
A pearl on the water's breathless breast.
I walk along the shore, alone.
Warm, sunny winds stain my face.
My ears are filled with wordless whisperings.
Where are you I would have beside me?
A careless cloud obscures the sun.
The wind turns cold and ominous.
I brush sudden tears from my cheeks
And hopelessly retrace my footsteps in the sand.