The Place Where Egrets Danced
The lake is slowly going dry,
where herons fish and turtles swim.
No rain clouds in a clear blue sky
to give some shade, provide a scrim.
The shoreline has receded such
that killdeer strut the dry lakebed.
The egrets, searching, don’t find much,
must leave this place to fish instead
in other lakes, in other ponds
with water clear. There, food is found
among the reeds where fish are spawned.
How I will miss their croaking sounds,
their long-legged stride, some ancient dance
that I was privileged to view,
their patience and their stately stance.
The flash of white when off they flew.
The lake is starting to go dry
filled only with the tears they cried.