The Lake

I toured lonely as a cloud,

The aim of which was anonymous,

Floating high o’er hills and vales.

All at once, I saw a still lake.

Besides the trail beneath the sky,

Fluttering and waving in the breeze,

Giving the roof to tens and thousands of creatures,

Promising to heal the wounds.

A poet could not be but merry,

In such a jocund company.