that which comes naturally bears no malice
Light-caps ride ripples at low angle to the sun. Broken by you, friend trout, up to make a meal on the minions who bear me sanguine intent. For this I am grateful.
But not so much as not to ask. Dispatch as many clear the shore ( soft sleep would be lovely ), but not as deny the bellies of full-throated frogs. Their summer songs lull me.
I have no cool cave of quiet. Nor do I offer up the splendour of a log that lets my legs dangle, but exposes my bottom to those who natter in clusters.
Perhaps less so tonight. Perhaps less so by many factor, should you grant my prayer. In thanks, tomorrow we rise by the light-capped shore and breakfast together.
