White Water Poem by Tom Billsborough
White Water
White water rapids, black rocks polish fear.
The plunging sensations,
And the dying falls
The water exploding like shells
Against our canoe's thin walls
Twisting and turning
For each eddy and clue
As the torrent torments
With its elusive current.
Paddles dig in as we seek to control
The animal wildness of each new fall.
At last we find an area of calm
With aching shoulders and sores on each palm.
Thanks, Edward. I love your poem today. Must read more tomorrow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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6/1/2024 3:10:47 PM # 1.0.0.1119
All's well that ends well, Inspiring poem..10+
That's very kind of you, Mohammed. Yes, the calm after the storm makes it worthwhile.