Raymond A. Foss Poems

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A mat of green, burgundy, and brown
Covered the skin of the once open water
Of the marsh, cut off by the black thread
The highway I travel so often

Lily pads, bent edges exposed by the bloom
The burst of their growth
Between the rushes and ribbon of water
Down from the woods

How recently it was different
Ducks paddling where the blanket is now
Untrammeled by foreign plants,
Runoff of fertilizers of the farms around

Choked water of brown not blue
Murk and smell
Off the road that sealed its doom
Away from the fresh lake
On the other side forevermore

Soon it will be colored by fall hues
Fragile weakened trees shedding leaves earlier
Sooner than nearby in heartier soils

Truly it can be said,
Mournful are the harbingers,
The prodigy
Of development

August 15, 2005 11:46

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