Stirring a Still Pond

My pond sits still and deep,
with no ripple in its mirrored surface,
its cold depths forgetting the
gentle stirring from a warm sun.
It nestles, sulking, among barren hills as
scudding clouds reflect their passing.
Then you come along,
your warm touch stirring,
perhaps disconcerting at first,
creating warm currents in lifeless depths.
The soft breeze of
your whispered caresses turn
a stagnant pool like me into
running water, teeming with life.
You stirred my soul, and
warmed my depths.

Dallas D'Angelo-Gary 97