a childhood memory of one of my favorites playgrounds

The Marsh

In a quiet place
Where tadpoles become frogs
Turtles stare while I share
Their mossy, fallen logs

Pond water, ebony black
Ripples gently by dragon flies
Barely noticed, is the catbird’s
Mew, as it takes to the sky

Published November 22, 2010 Write a comment
To write comments please login or join.
Add this poem to your "I recommend you to read" list? Confirm
user image
Alison Cassidy
A little vignette - one of those stepping stones of memory that trigger a moment of transcendence. Lovely piece. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
user image
Sylvia Marquetta
A beautiful childhood memory you have described.
Want to delete this comment?   Confirm or Close