George – A lake less traveled
By Nicholas Miller
Are you seeking? Then be free to listen, read, or scram,
now we speak of George, you see, Lake, King, Quaker, Lamb.
He's native to a woman's place, the native people say,
he comes and goes, and no one knows precisely of his way.
A king in Weereewa, A flock of one, a godly path his own,
he knows freedom in his heart, you see, one for him alone.
He's a minster of silence, somehow bold and serene,
in pages of old, freshness of rain, and somewhere in between.
The lonely loner, on his way, walks beside us all the same,
approach and bring him joy, you'll see, a soul, wise and clever, wild and tame.
Our time together, simple and brief, a dream aloft the breeze,
lies forever in the heart, vault for moments such as these.