Cool, rushing river.
How I love you so.
My playground, my pasture of happiness.
Your banks covered with wet rocks, musty grass, and
the occasional dead fish.
Every part of you screams fun.
If I could spend but one more hour along your shimmery banks,
I would spend it on patrol, for a waterlogged toy,
flying through the air.
And when I see said toy, in an arc across
my dear river's rippled surface,
I am blown away by the need
to run, jump, splash and swim.
And landing, graceful, into your blessed, wet, coolness.
I am overcome with the need to chase my toy,
grasp it along with a mouthful of your river bounty,
And return to shore, to do it again.