Red jacket skirted beneath blue wellies
Walking the burn behind our house.
Stream trickles over smooth brown rocks
That crumble and roll from my feet.
Water steals slowly, inching up my boot
Drawing me deeper down murky green.
A step stops in wonder as liquid rises,
Builds a bowing arc of balancing light..
Seeps down to my sole, a cool washing.
I'm walking with a river in my welly.
Welcome to our site Annette, poor wet foot, ahhhhh dave xxx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well-drawn. Regards.