Lorraine Fountain

 

 

It may be

 

Sunlight sparkles on a freshwater stream,

Or so it may seem.

It could be salt.

 

Distant grey mountains, so large and so old,

Or so I am told.

They might be clouds.

 

A lark in the sky flies, singing to the day,

Or so they say.

It may be a gull.

 

It may be,

That they might be.

It could be,

But they shouldn’t be.

This is a place,

Where there aren’t bees,

There should be,

But there aren’t.