Short Stories and Ideas
(c) William Russell
The story could go on
Or it could be a poem
By Pond of Life's Tale
As it goes on.
The poem sitting by the pond
Would be a love story
As it goes on
Involving Sean and his blonde
Or if it were a tale of a mouse
You see
It would be a story of all kinds of gadgetry
So it matters not to me
Which it will be
It is surely what will come totally free
To me
So which will it be?
The tale of little timothy
Or the boy by the pond
With his girl so blonde
As this rhyme could continually go on
I shall stop by the pond
And continue Timothy another day
For it's a story of old
That the future in it will be told
Let's start with the warm breeze
Sitting among the bees
At the edge of the pond
Dreaming of sailing upon the seven seas
In a warm mistful breeze
Let the peaceful falls
On the other side of the pond
Not be a horrifying tidal wave
Of one of the seven seas
That we're dreaming to be on
This is a pond
That I love to dream upon
In my little boat
That once could float
And this is the story
It may have wrote
If it's rotten bow
Had been turned into a pencil of lead
And given brains instead
Of an eraser for a head
This is what it may have said
Every day my master would pull me
From my shed
And set me afloat
In a small little moat
It would lead me to the pond
Up ahead
There he would set sail
Until he could try to hail
This time without a pail
His pale golden blonde gal
Across the pond shallow
In her own little hollow
When he, knowing he would become breathless
And hard for him to swallow
Would follow
Seeing her splendid beauty
Standing on the water's edge
Of her hollow
I would then come about
And not understand his failure to shout
I love thee
And all of the beauty
That you reflect across to me
Instead I would steadily sail
Back to my shed
And witness tears flowing from his head
As his eyes would become reddened
Storing me in my shed
Knowing another day
He would repeat his heartbreak
And more tears to shed
And once again
I would be placed in my shed
When, oh when
Will his tears ever stop from flow
And he will come to know
The beauty that stands in her hollow
And he will not have to swallow
His pride
Or if he feels he has shame to hide
For it is not like the ocean wide
For this pond has no tide
Someday I hope he will decide
To swallow his hidden pride
The reeds have become more dense and tall
The slip has become more narrow
I've been washed from my cozy shed
Down to the water's edge
Here I come once again
Through the blinding shining of my master's thoughts
As we ride across the pond
To see the blue eyed girl
With the blonde curl
Coming close enough only to touch
A powerful beat of my master's heart
And then quickly depart
From her shore
Back to the slip that is no more
Just a steep bank
Climbing up the shore
No more shed
I have long waited to see my master's head
When will he return?
I know he will
For his heart surely still yearns
For the girl across the pond
That the head with he golden curls
Sits upon
The mouse is beginning to shiver and shake
The wheel's now beginning to turn
As the earth starts to shake
Time seems to be moving on
Away from where the wheel was set upon
Passing through twilight
Lights of blue
Toward a new hue
We'll be going to a new time shortly
from this rhyme
Listen every day
For there could be something that I say