Ghosts of Valley Lake
written by: Jan Niebrzydowski
Driving down the hilly moonless country road
Cold was upon us and the wind ever fierce
The white headlights caught his slight solitary figure
An unexpected chill grabbed as I looked at him
My brother crouched upon the crooked, aching fence
Hands thrust into his pockets, head crooked into his coat
The lone inhabitant of this relic romantic one time hence
Stopping to extend our “hellos,” it seemed the wind
Took the feeble words and whisked them away
The small, inconsequential, weeded, rusted beach
Seeming even smaller now, in the perfect darkness
Remaining to some, to him, the beacon of wonder days
Still in our tender youth we were, but beginning the journey
Leaving behind days of eternal summer, but he reigned there
Popularity and friends, so many, counted like dandelions
Now listlessly blown away, gone to other lives, he waited
Like the last flower of spring, clinging to its place in time
A portrait, as any artist could dream to paint, that
Encapsulated times gone by, this silent silhouette by the lake
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