Lush green hills, a cabin at bottom
Of logs of pine, a landscape-exotic!
There lived a lad, his torso tattooed
Vivid portrayal of his bitter bygone days
For he owned a pup, his firmest friend
Its satin soft fur brown as if pollen-dusted
Also a coppery canoe so old, refurbished.
In a month of lavenders, a weather so clement
A pale glimmer of specks of stars spicy and still
Sipping on a ruby red wine he roved forth to horizon blue
Whistling in glee for his furry mate, bon voyage!
Frenzy on that barbera wine, on and on he paddled.
Amongst the withered weeds stretched ashore
His glimpse locked in the hues of a last lone aster
Stuck in its beauty, elegance and scent
The very next moment-pause-a twist of fate;
Drowns the trio toward a disarray of the lake bed
To the abyss of a vortex, their final seconds
Fighting for life, yet helpless and fruitless.
Woke to life by a wavelet spray, bathed in reality
Lone survivor he stood dismayed, down hearted
Echoes of skylark whir a lament, of grief
Sadder than any words, fitfully orphic
Yet feeble, less louder than his own swirl of thoughts.
Purple shattered, smooth-laid on his sobbing cheeks
Condolent petals of the very same aster
Dispatched by midnight mute summer winds.
Scattered on the lake surface, undeciphered ellipses
of eulogy for his dearly departed duo
Every moment embraced in a dreary dull solitude.