Hilda Conkling

(1910–1986) / New York

By Lake Champlain

I was bare as a leaf
and I felt the wind on my shoulder.
The trees laughed
When I picked up the sun in my fingers.
The wind was chasing the waves,
tangling their white curls.
'Willow trees,' I said,
'O willows,
look at your lake!
Stop laughing at a little girl
Who runs past your feet in the sand!'
278 Total read