I could see you walking slow along the shore of Dunning lake
A black umbrella in your hands, a black dress flowing in your wake

Your reflection drifting slowly on the gently undulating tide
Obstructed only by the ripples born from black swans in their stride

Submissive colors dress you as to not disturb the lakeside fog
Your movements ever subtle as I sketch you in an artist’s log

Advancing ever gracefully along the far side of the lake
The focus of a mural mist; a dream from which I’ll surely wake