The Swimming Hole
The Swimming Hole
A burbling tuneful peaty burn
Like amber whisky flowing clear
Where darting minnows twist and turn
Is soothing music to my ear.
Between the banks of rushes green
Below the falls a deep dark pool
Where lads who come to swim are seen
Enjoying fun and keeping cool.
I paddle in the flowing brine
Where icy waters cool my feet
And ripple through my toes, sublime.
A feeling rare, supremely sweet.
The swimming hole, a place to be
When sun is warm and spirits free
I spend a quiet happy day
And watch my worries float away
Copyright © Margaret Foster | Year Posted 2010
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