I wrote this haunting poem in my 9th grade English class and it was one of only a couple of poems selected in my class to be published in a poetry anthology book.
In the spring of youth it stood alone,
light mallard-green just barely shown.
With a near-lying lake which forever sank,
into the somber black rocks of the surrounding bank.
Towering ’round were the pines above,
filled with whistling chimes from the neighboring doves.
This all could not be loved the less,
except the silent feeling of loneliness.
It would haunt one spot until old and unfit,
then slowly fade away to an everlasting respite.
© 1989 Michael Guerra