Janis La Couvée
The Lake, End of Year
cold wet winter, a forlorn chill in the air
my feet along forest path down to the lake
among fallen trees, leaves and mud, I strip – bare
skin to elements, dip in currents, and slake
the thirst to feel, grief husk covering my soul
discard pants and wool shirt before I partake
here sylvan creatures, tiny mouse, shrew and vole
fear-driven, hungry, scamper, dart – quick to hide
bolt into security of refuge hole
warm and dry, protected, safe, there abide
while I, pause a moment to contemplate
life’s trajectory, how a year seems to slide
lurches, like a drunken fool, from state to state
silly man, while the world burns – is this our fate?