The Little Kingfisher

The sun sinks low behind the hills,
and Lake Como's water turns calm and still.

The Little Kingfisher, blue and bright,
skims the water in the fading light.

She passes cypress trees, tall and thin,
their long shadows stretching in.

Past villas pink and gold and cream,
their windows glowing like a dream.

A small wooden boat rocks by the shore,
its oars laid still, not rowed anymore.

A lakeside bell rings soft and low,
then fades away, so sweet and slow.

She flits past lemon trees in rows,
their scent still lingering as daylight goes.

The mountains lean to touch the lake,
their mirrored peaks so still, so still, they ache with sleep.

She settles in a nest of reed and stone,
tucked by the water, safe and alone.

And now it's time, my little one,
to rest like she has, day is done.

Wrapped up warm and snug and tight,
Lake Como whispers... goodnight, goodnight.