Just scribbling

The trinket gurgled
heading to the stream
that babbled
I dabbled a toe or two
in as young boys do

summer flew,
outspread wings and
the north brings winter

I always knew it would end
this way with
ice on the window panes
indoor parlour games
and Gran on the accordion.

(Trinket may be an Irish word for a very small stream, I heard it first over thirty years ago in County Cavan, Southern Ireland and even then it struck me as a beautiful word to use.)

© 2018, John Smallshaw.