Updated: Mar 12

The slip-slop

slide and slosh

the nakedness

of water-children,

Slipping school,

slipping uniform,

running classes,

casting aside

weeds of green;

cascading into

carefree clarities.

Always leave

empty handed,

a melody of waters,

by un-tuned fingers


hard stops of rocks:

Where is world's end?

a gurgling grin

innocently asks.

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