The Pond and Love.

The pond water 

is dull and motionless. 

It always was. 

I sit where we both sat 

that time ago, 

now alone. 

Across the pond 

was a small woodland, 

the bushes and trees 

since grown 

or died back. 

No one to converse 

with now. 

Where she sat beside me, 

a lone space. 

A few ducks float 

on the water’s skin. 

I fished here once, 

but caught nothing. 

Now it is wintery, 

but back then 

it was summer 

and we sat and talked. 

We did kiss. 

That was it. 

It is that simplicity, 

that innocent love, 

that I miss.