The fish pond lies embraced
By a cradle of stillness . . .

Gentle autumn winds
Rustle through its lacy reeds,
Rippling the cool water,
Caressing the banks
As tenderly as a finger on a rose.

Rushes adorned with
Shimmering water-pearl dresses
Bend over the still water,
Peering at a wavy reflection of
A gold and crimson sky.

The soft blanket of night
Gently lays its cheek onto the pond
As sounds of crickets herald
A warm, serene night.