Rowing Boat

"Drawing us to where reeds sweep, and bowed willows gently wither weep"

The sun ascended to its apex highTraversing dawn’s rich clementine skyBurning off the morning veilOf misty haze so thin and frailThat it hung amid the old oak treesMotionless without a breezeEthereal as a silken shroudAnd humid as diluted cloudThat rolled...