Still Pond

There is a secret place on Hampstead Heath
Where ancient trees surround a pond of peace
Where ducks and moorhens strut and preen
Where a silent heron stands guard, unseen

The seasons lap like tides upon the trees
Budding and blooming and scattering leaves
While the pond breathes its living ebb and flow
From winter’s frost-glass to summer’s fire-glow

I visit there to find my resting place
A calm eye amidst life’s swirling pace
I visit there to renew my earthly bond
To find myself, reflected, in the still pond.