The Fountin

They scream, they cry, they play
Running and jumping and laughing until their bodies grow tired
The children play without care
Darting in between spouts of water
As if the cool water were harmful in some way
The clever breeze creeps up behind them and chills their tiny figures
A scream of joy here, a giggle of laughter there
They are having the time of their lives.

Author notes

This poem was inspired as I watched a bunch of kids play in this fountin thing at a place called Riverscape [go someday. It's beautiful!], while I was at camp.