Wading

A Wading...a wading,
Where the swift waters flow.
I take off my shoes,
And my toes go below.

I hold up my dress,
And pucker up my lips.
Oh..."It is so cold",
And not without slips.

Some birds in the bushes,
Were looking at me.
For they were there nesting,
And plainly could see.

The water was deepening,
As I moved about.
And I decided I was finished,
And I had better get out.

Over to the water's edge,
Where the soft grasses grow.
I withdrew from the water,
With a crawfish on my toe.


E.P. 1908 - 1989