By George Freek
ALONE ON THE LAKE (After Su Dongpo) Night falls like a curtain, as a cold wind rustles the reeds along the shore. Dark clouds threaten rain. The dying stars barely light my way. Like a guttering candle, the moon flickers above me. There’s no sign of birds or of men. When I fished this lake with my father I felt secure. At sixty, cold and alone, I think of my wife. I steer my boat in the direction I hope will take me home.
George Freek’s poetry has recently appeared in The Ottawa Arts Review, Acumen, The Lake, The Whimsical Poet, Triggerfish and Torrid Literature.
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