The Swimming Hole Poem by Kim Schilling
The Swimming Hole
Tranquil multihued waters
rest calm as crisp leaves rustle;
A sunshade branches out,
where bare feet have tread
and minnows have nibbled.
Today awaits their arrival,
Yellow rafts and orange flippers;
boys’ laughter grows closer
as clothes are shed down the hill.
“Last one in is a rotten egg.”
Friday, February 6, 2009
Topic(s) of this poem: branches,laughter,swimming
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8/29/2026 5:58:05 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
