Cranberry Lake

Cranberry Lake

An August sun baked our canoe
Where we had beached it, in the sand.
And, taking your small hand
Toward shade, I led you.

Or was it you, me,
Who followed, who led,
When gaily laughing, you said
This bunch here are portabellini?

This bunch of what? said I
Dumb as three brooms.
These here, see the mushrooms
‘Neath the tree where they lie?

How do you know this?
When I stopped you were shaken
Thinking me angry, mistaken
By my horrified bliss.

I have studied them, learned
What they are, from a book.
Now walking with you, I but look
And they appear, as if pages were turned!

Just then the chirp of a squirrel
Awoke us, for a silence had come
Upon your words, and by some
Strange magic I knew you were my girl.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2008