The pond is open now. The cold

of winter’s grip no longer holds

the water’s gently pulsing scroll.

Surprised, I watch the spring unfold.

Surprised, because I feared the toll

of losing you would break the whole

and leave me lost in endless past,

beyond the touch that might console.

But now the darker months have passed

And spring’s return to life is fast –

My walking’s gained a stronger pace –

As if from death you’ve come at last.

The pond is now a sacred place

Where on the waves I find your face.