WITH MY DOG
Frozen Pond
by Harry Hunter, © 2009
Unlike Henry Thoreau’s great Walden Pond,
This is only a good-sized sinkhole,
A miniature green Crater Lake, whose
“Liquid and trembling surface” has solidified.
Here everything seems to be frozen dead,
But in their “quiet parlor” fishes still swim
In Thoreau’s softened light,
Turtles and frogs rest in muddy sleep,
And beavers, I hope, are warm in their den,
Despite the depredations of my curious dog.
Though I hate to see saplings harvested,
I hope the fat-faced, flat-tailed, furry things
Have stocked their larder well enough
To hold a merry Christmas feast.
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