A Sonnet for Walden
                 by Corinne H. Smith


Itís just a glacial lake, the experts claim.
Tíwas formed by eons-old retreating ice:
A kettle hole with walls of drift remained,
And no one would have called it Paradise.
Because the soil was unfit to till,
A stand of pines grew up on either side.
The oaks and shrubbery had space to fill,
And all of it, the water magnified.
But when a man arrived in í45,
He nudged afloat a series of events.
With words and deeds, he set the place alive,
And countless pilgrims come as consequence.
His high regard for evíry tree and frond
Confirmed the sacredness of Walden Pond.

© 2012  Corinne H. Smith

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