To the frenchie
The frenchie
She’s so quiet now
Her waters calm
Low
Due to draught
She’s different somehow
More haggard
Showing her years
End of summer
Cold front moving in
Everyone’s hiding
Inside instead
I can’t let go
Don’t want to!
Not just yet anyway
I want to hold tight
To those lazy summer days
With her. Us. You. Them.
Feeling her run over me
Kicking my feet
Mud between my toes
Gliding my hands across her surface
Feeling her slip through my fingers
TO THE FRENCHIE!
See you next year!
I bow to you
A farewell til then,
My dear lady.