Regarding Lake Windermere and the surrounding Environs

A few years ago I wrote this while visiting England’s incredible Lake District with a group of friends. The poem never received a name but it has a special place in my heart. Any suggestions for a title are more than welcome.

 

My mind filled up a while back
with arguments and half-digested cogitations,
poorly worded jokes and shy self criticisms,
but there are things I still have room to place:

these green hills stitched together
with shallow stone walls.  An earthy Frankenstein
lies low around the lake, breathes out
humidity and fills the day
with damselflies.

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