1
Dispatch → Bulletin → Opinion
by 
The Eternal Gratitude of Land Without Shrimp.
.
20 reads.
Lakeside
The night is young and the sky is dark,and above proclaim all the glittering stars,
and the air is warm and the breeze is sweet
and the cool lake waters lap against our feet
and as we sit upon that narrow rickety dock,
we chat and we ponder and we take stock
of all the beauty we've known before,
the songs we sang in those days of yore
and now as our hands are interlocked,
you lean way out over the side of this dock,
and I hold you up with unfiltered glee,
as I tell you, laughingly,
that now might be a fine time to swim
if I let go, you're going in,
and you don't stop but keep straining
finally grazing the surface and then saying
These waters still caress my feet and brush my hand
and though I'm far out from any firm, solid land,
I feel safe and secure and complete tonight,
these stars above and your eyes so bright,
and you hold my hand so sweetly tight
and so I have absolutely no right
to let my doubts and fears exert and reign
but at the end of all things I still maintain
you're my love, my truth, my peace, my sword,
but past you, above you, beyond you is my Lord.
Your low melodic voice rings out that final phrase
and I can't help but echo it back with my own praise
we are loved, you know, I know -
before we loved, when we said no,
we were called and surely justified
and just as surely someday glorified
and what a wondrous beautiful thing it is
that we would be called
a son of God
a daughter of God
and such we are
and such we are.
And the night is slightly older
and the sky is slightly darker
and above singing stronger
are all the fiercely adoring stars.
