Etched memories; thoughts of many moons ago,
That time I desperately held on, wouldn’t let you go.
While; ‘messing about on the river’, how apt!
A favourite haunt of ours, that’s a fact!
At the time, maybe aged eight or nine,
Ignoring the prominent, ‘Danger’, sign.
Repeatedly told, ‘that it was unsafe to do so’,
Did we heed the advice? Unfortunately, No!
Losing balance, overboard you toppled and fell,
Immediately began the experience of a living hell.
Into the rivers grotesque murky depths,
Panic ensued, followed by a ‘sixth sense’.
I plucked you safely from her grasp,
Not a second thought, no need to ask.
Wet, bedraggled, in a state of shock,
Relief at what could have been: grateful for our lot.
Breda Ware
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