The ripples glide across the lake With the brightness of the moon, The solitude is broken By the calling of a loon. Its lonely cries pierce through the night And bring memories to mind Of happy days, of joys always, Of love left far behind. The harvest moon reflects for miles From the far side of the lake, The loon's outlined as it flaps its wings For the flight it now must make. Lonely cries in the early dawn Bring the thought one can't express. Is it sad? Is it glad? Is it thoughts of love Lost in the wilderness? The spring will come when the loons return With the bliss of lasting love. The loon will call from across the lake, And its sound reminds one of That yesteryear when the touch was there, And the look within the eye Made forevers seem like that endless spring When they said their last goodbye. |
| Peter |
| Peter Hedden wrote this lovely poem He was inspired by the loons at the lake in Ontario where he has his cottage |
 |
 |
 |
|
| Please sign |
| Please view |
 |
 |
|
|
|
 |
 |
|
| LOONS |
