I have a boat, all my own.
I keep it next to my lake so large, the one we all know:
The lake where the sun is never balanced by the breeze;
the lake where the breeze in never balanced with leaves.

Everyday they gave chase; I sailed upon the lake in hope of escape.
I set my sails upon the great lake and pushed, as always.
"I'll take on the storms," I said so fervantly and with such strength,
the type of strength born from more horrific storms of past.
"I've seen it all!" - I practically laughed.

And such were the ways I'd spend my days.
Then came the day when the chase stopped and the storms ceased.
I looked all ways, from the edge of my lake, my eyes couldn't believe.
Even the breeze was balanced, as were the leaves.

Knowing only habit, I got into my boat and sailed.
Too calm for comfort, I saw the other side of the lake for the first time.
And so I sailed my way across my lake, empty and almost directionless.
Finally reaching the other side, I looked upon my Lake.
Only to realize, my lake was merely a pond.