May third was a feast of sun and blue sky
And I biked myself crazy ’til noon
But a cloud then flew over my bright springy mood
And I lapsed into bottomless gloom.
But the mystery was short: t’was an iceperson’s grief
Gosh, I even was missing the snow
And the remedy too, just as quickly appeared
To that bright little pond I would go.
You see this pond is more than a pond
there’s a legend to it’s far-off sheen
And strangest to tell, though I’ve talked it up:
It’s a place I’ve never seen.
So I teamed up with two twenty-somethings
And we drove to that boulder-strewn gap
Where smugglers of old humped their whiskey
That speak-easies later would tap.
This trail is now closed, the sign shouted
We’d have a two-week delay
As I lingered a bit, unsure of myself
The gang was off and away!
So steeply we climbed through the mud and the rocks
Well-seasoned with fields of old snow
Where every ledge was a waterfall
Which gurgling sped below.
As last near the sky, at last near the sun
at a welcoming sign, we were pleased
so we quickened the pace, it was downhill from here:
we excitedly scanned through the trees
Hours later we came down to the welcoming road
We had won at the rolling of dice
and deep down I knew, though the months would be long
I would somehow survive without ice