The Town Pond

By the town pond we walked,
One fine Saturday in May,
Hand in hand, matching steps,
Walking as one along the sunlit bank.
It seems so long ago.

We paused and above the eager songs of birds
We heard a sudden distant roar
Of parents cheering their children on to score
On ballfields hidden by trees beyond the water.

Idly you threw a stone, threw it awkward,
High and wide. From where it splashed,
Ripples within ripples quickly spread,
Twisting the reflected grass, trees and sky,
Causing floating leaves to sharply bob,
Tiny surfers letting opportunity slip them by,
Each confident the next wave would be the one.

The surface grew smooth again,
As if the stone'd never been.
You said you loved me
And awaited my reply.

Now as I walk alone along the bank,
Again from the ballfields on the other side,
I hear the parents' excited roar,
Cheering as their children score.

Years of work foolishly postponed
And the dam's a damaged wreck, the water drained.
And of the pond all that's left's
A winding stream (much as the settlers first found)
And a wide expanse of mud, drying in the sun.

In that mud countless rocks
Sit harshly exposed to view,
Which is the one you threw?
I can't tell it from the rest.

Yet I hear the hard voice of every stone,
"Did you ever love me," says one,
"I don't know you anymore," cries a second,
Another just weeps in the night.

And from the ballfields out of sight,
I hear the parents' cheerful roar,
Cheering as their children score.

If only that day I'd held my tongue,
I'd not stand here now, angry and undone.
But I was no longer so young
And was tired of being alone.