by Eric Rosenbloom
copyright 2005

dedicated to the memory of Clarence Sterling

At the top of the morning’s milk, the cream
Reveals her face as bright as the rising sun,
She stretches to dry her robes as they warm
As of a thousand mornings and this just one.

The water you drew from the well
Is nourishing as good strong beer,
A lake’s worth, more than enough for all
To drink deep and sing loud a new year.

I was shown a decorated book
Where tangled threads of herb and beast
Shimmered like a rainbow where I looked
And puzzled faces met my own mumbling gaze.

And when at last I turned the one who brought me here
Was gone — a thousand tears now fall for one so dear.

[ rosenlake.net/er/poetry ]