Homage to Sterling Pond

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 the trail leveled off in an hour or so,
And the cover of snow was complete
From time to time we would bullet down through
And lose both our legs and our feet.

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

Now sterling’s a name for bright silver
but this pond was dark greenish-brown
but my prayers were nonetheless answered
half the surface was the whitest of down.

From ahead then I heard a splash and a cry
I knew they’d been shedding the gear
when I pantingly reached the pond’s rocky shore,
Two polar bears swam far and near

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

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