In which we meet a memory

Wellies call to mind
Eight year old me, ankle-
Deep in sloppy peat and sinking.
No Prince Charming, he, but adept at
Extracting be-boggéd maidens nevertheless.
Scooped up beneath my arms, I
Dropped into adoration as he dropped me onto solid ground,
And watched him go back for the lone welly, its
Yellow rim indignant against the mud.
Awwww! That brings back a few memories.
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Haha I’m not sure I’ve changed that much!
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Fabulous 😀 xx
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Thank you! 😀
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Great stuff!
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Thanks Kat!
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