Racing down kid-made paths.
Skinny dipping where no eyes could see.
Fishing for trout and carelessly laughing
through the dog days of summer.
The river of youth,
so crystal clear.
Walking down the well-trodden path.
Embracing first love’s passion.
Counting stars in the August night sky
till sleep invaded nature’s bed.
The river of youth,
so crystal clear.
Seeking the river’s youthful path.
Relentlessly holding on to no avail.
Finding the river now has been dammed
and her course, frighteningly unknown.
Nothing, but nothing
stays crystal clear forever.
A contest entry
- Skinny Dipping by Danna Hobart.
375 points, ended September 21, 2008, 14 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What do you think?
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