Impatient Waters

Twisting, swirling,

spraying, curling.

Our swollen stream speeding,

through the rushes

past the bushes.

Where oh where is it leading?

 

Through the village;

floods from spillage.

Sweeping headstrong and free.

Ever south it goes,

On it flows,

Impatient to enter the sea.

2 Comments

  1. Phil

    Your few words capture the essence of the scene you’re depicting. And it rhymes, so it’s a proper poem!

    Reply
    • Lynne

      Thank you, Phil. I know you prefer the rhyming poetry. Some subjects suit that form and others create more emotion without rhyme.

      Reply

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