For A Whiskered Face

Deep in the velvet where the willows weep,
A foggy mirror shows secrets it should keep.
The pace slows down to a gentle hum,
It’s the rhythm of the wood where the shy things come.

Oh, the otter pond is a dreaming place,
A quiet drink for a whiskered face.
Where stale waters stir and creatures creep by,
Under the gaze of a summer sky.

A flash of a shadow, a glide, and a spin,
Through the cool of the oasis, they’re diving back in.
Chasing the sunlight, hunting the deep,
While the forest around them is half-asleep.

Lush is the carpet, soft is the sound,
Of a mind that is lost and a peace that is found.
For the lucky who linger, for the few who stay,
The heavy old world just drifts away.

Swim through the ripples, play in the blue,
There in the wild the glass whispers back to you.
In the quiet of the pond, where the soul breathes slow,
Where the water flows, and the otters go.