Cottage by the Pond

The little cottage by the pond
it's such a magical place

There's something that stirs within the heart
like greeting someone you love, face to face

To be by the water in the early spring of the year
Can anything compare, can anything come near

To sit under the pines and feel the warm spring breeze
remembering back last winter
when there were days we would freeze

To watch the ice go out, which puts on quiet a show
to see it disappear with all the winter snow

The sun brings new life to all the vegetation
and the pond becomes alive with song
in "God special water creation"

I love it when the cottage is opened in the spring
Its such a big adventure and always a joyous thing

There's so much to look forward to
the excitement begins anew
The moment the doors are opened
the memories come flooding through

The outline of the big bass, that someone caught
drawn on the back of the door
Little sailboats hand painted on the kitchen floor

The birds nest woven out of birch bark
and the fossil found on a sandy shore
Old fishpole's and tackle
that no one uses anymore

A picture of my dear old Dad, fishing off the dock
Mom's cast iron owl that once sat on a branch in a tree
And a old photo in the camp album
on the beach of Gram and me

A haven full of treasures, so precious I can't explain
old railway spikes from the rails, that once carried the train
A tree wart, the kids carved on, to put their names
An anchor found on the sand bar,
and a wash board found by the shore
Maybe it was something left behind by someone
in the Civilian Conservation Corps

I love my little wood stove and my rusty water pump
I even like my outhouse, which fits my rounded rump

Some folks like their cottages so much,
they are willing to put up with all the noise
when people go out on the water with their boats,
and all their water toys

I could leave if I wanted to, when it becomes a zoo
but I have a need to be there, like all those other folks do

The taxes are hefty, they drive some folks out
but you know I would spend my last dollar to stay
of that I have no doubt

The old places are dwindling fast
the shoreline is changing into a town
Maybe someday it will be called "Pond City"
I don't want to be around

It is very pleasant , when life gets kinda slow
folks now zip by me, that I don't even know
Oh, how silly of me, did I expect old times to last
I guess I'm just an old cuss still living in the past

The little pond, that's so wild and holding its own
one can only wonder how much longer it can last
since its now surrounded by yearly homes

It saddens me for many reasons
the pond doesn't get the reprieve that it once use to
when all the folks packed up and left
with the changing of the seasons

When its time to close the cottage, in the late of fall
I fight back tears, knowing I've got to say goodbye to it all

My memories will tide me over till the next spring
if I am lucky to get one more time around
When once again I open those doors
that fill my senses with sweet nostalgia abound

I'll hook up the water, and prime the water pump
clean the stove pipe and start a fire in the stove
Then me and Woody will stand out on the shoreline
and look down towards the cove

Watching for the Loons, to see if they are here
hoping they will grace us with their presence for another year

Oh, smell that birch bark burning, it will give you a high
this is something you can't go into a store and buy

The folks with year round houses, they are a happy lot
But it just may be they are missing things they know of not

Like returning to the cottage
every spring of the year

A wonderful ritual that I so look forward to,
and hold in my heart so dear

Darlene Sprague
2005