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Whitewater
Foaming water, hard to see,
raft rocketing rapidly,
constant roaring on the air,
everything soaked, toe to hair,
paddles plunge and the bow shifts
slowly through the angry mists,
shoots past rocks, and eddies white,
the river drops out of sight,
stomach lurches, I feel tall,
plunge down a small waterfall,
splash hard in a swirling pool,
spun ’round as if on a spool,
hard strokes bring a quick escape,
into safer waters break,
boys are cheering, there is that,
it was their idea to raft.
Copyright ©
David Welch
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