Ripples in a Pond

Curiously she fluttered

in and out of view.

An unsuspecting admirer

peered from the windowsill.


She knew

he was there.

He hoped selfishly

she would enter




he watched as she drank

from the fountain

picturing classy women

at horse races.


Two months later

he noticed a small nest

in an orb hanging from a tree.

Hummingbird hatchlings

with beaks smaller than a tack

vied for space.


This was no horserace.

There was no starting gun,

bets, sinew, or stress fractures.

He felt fulfilled like never before.


Chance and luck

bore him witness to

beauty in creation.



A pebble

had produced ripples in clear pond.

He, a lily pad,

wondered when the ripples would fade

hoping they wouldn’t

reassured by their rolling continuity.






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