Ripples on a still pond.

The slightest breeze in the air?

The water grows restless.

Because of a stone thrown there?

The ripples spread out far,

But their strength begins to fade.

My vision still obscured,

By the veil the water made.

The mirror’s surface, murky,

As if shrouded in a mist.

I strain my eyes to see,

Through the haze that does persist.

What lies beneath the surface,

In the depths of this still pond?

A world of mystery and wonder,

That my eyes have yet to gaze upon.

The ripples grow week

but my vision is still clouded.

The water does not clear

and the mirror remains shrouded.

Yet as the ripples fade away,

as the water’s surface calms,

in its stillness, I see

the reflection of the stars.

Even though the water stirs,

the ripples lasting long,

in the end, in its stillness,

only a reflection belongs.

Ripples on a still pond,

A breeze that softly blows.

The water stirs, restless,

As a stone is thrown below.