Holden Pond

The blacksmith’s hammer
And the tanner’s mallet
Fell silent here a long time ago.

Their calloused pounding hands
And leather beating hearts
Now lying six feet under.

Earthen scars of forgotten
Trades, slowly fade in the shade
Cast by carefree trees.

And, but for the ducks
With their flotillas of young,
These waters would be still.

The perfect place
For my troubled mind
To rest and forge these lines.

SD 10/4/21

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