Tumbling, truckling, the tickling stream passed clear over my wriggling toes.
Cold it was. And hard were the stones under my bones.
Dappled shafts of sneaky sunlight snuck through the laughing leaves.
There I lay
Just born
Listening
Naked
Alone and wanting for nothing.
Breathing spray and smiling.
A wild thing.
The waterling.
Beautiful poem – thank you for sharing!
LikeLike
Thank you – for always reading – a loyal fan from the start.
LikeLike
Love the language in this and the way it flows. Nicely done!
LikeLike