The Horseshoe Pool by Elizabeth Henry

illustration: Delphine Jones

 I sometimes stroll beside the pool

Where once, when young and trim,

I let the water beckon me

To paddle, float and swim.

 

I ponder hot and limpid days,

‘Neath crests of beryl blue,

Cavorting on the soggy bank

With little else to do …

 

My dress abandoned on the grass,

Beside a wooden shack;

A rowing boat that lightly jounced

Upon a stolid lap;

 

The squelch of mud betwixt my toes;

A chronic buzz of pests;

A gallant dive, with breath held tight

And legs against my chest;

 

The swoosh of leaves that rocked and swayed

And quivered in the sky,

Enchanting and bewitching me,

Whilst on my back I’d lie;

 

The calling of the nightingale,

The cuckoo and the thrush;

The peace and sheer placidity,

Away from stress and rush.

 

Then in a burst, abrupt and brisk,

My wistful daydream ends,

For standing, calling out to me,

Are three of my best friends.