A Swimming Grace,
a water ballet.
How the sun’s rays chase,
your somersault play.
Unbound, unbraced in a pure place,
that even a lovesick mermaid would not astray.
But the time will near,
when the sun does set.
And your breath will beckon you to surface.
It is then sweet dear,
when you must dry off and then return to your life of circus.
Poem & Illustration by Elizabeth Boylan