I am Reminded of Thoreau, Standing Beside a Pond Located Near a Retirement Center

I can see wild grasses beyond
The borders of the grey gazing buildings,
Growing unruly, unbridled.
Somewhere, I’m sure,
A small dog has lost his way,
In there.
Alas, a small dog might have died.

Oh, lonesome philosopher,
Where is your cabin
So carefully crafted
By your gentle fingers?
The orange sky chuckles at me,
And a hidden bird responds,
An echo from an older time,
“Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity.”
I direct my vision back to the pond.

The water is a pristine blue,
It is so perfectly clear,
And calm,
I can detect the most minute ripple,
As if it could topple a mask, and thrash a ship.

It is surrounded by grass,
Dazzlingly green and lush,
Almost outerworldly.
Each blade is precisely three-and-a-half inches,
Neatly spaced, each curved
As if shaped by a sculptor’s hand.

I feel a sense of deception.
I have bitten the firm tomato,
That was otherwise rotten.
I search for Thoreau’s villainous antiself,
Standing by a pond that is dying.
He can’t beguile me.