April showers bring May puddles
riddled with mud and bugs and such,
reflecting back a sorry face,
lines, creases, age, weight.

They splish and splash
and wish and wash,
rubber boots rooted to river rock
with muddled mucky river guck.

They cross the weathered willowed creek,
water colder, edges steep.
One by one they ask for more;
Heads held high, far from shore.

They take a bath in murky brown,
Heads up, back down,
reaching for the tired limb,
whip up, whip down, whip back, whip snap.

Spinning, swirling, long hair twirling,
a game of hopscotch gone amuck.
Winds crying, chimes dying,
washed to the Above.