Poem for December 4, 2032

The morning road is thronged with merry boys

Who seek the water for their Sunday joys;

They run to seek the shallow pit, and wade

And dance about the water in the shade.

The boldest ventures first and dashes in,

And others go and follow to the chin,

And duck about, and try to lose their fears,

And laugh to hear the thunder in their ears.

They bundle up the rushes for a boat

And try across the deepest place to float:

Beneath the willow trees they ride and stoop--

The awkward load will scarcely bear them up.

Without their aid the others float away,

And play about the water half the day.