Aug 21, 2019Aug 21, 2019 by Isla

To the rescue

Personal experience, Poetry, Relationships
childhood, humour, memory, photo, photography, poem, Poetry, Writing
6 Comments

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.

6 Comments

Alex Kennedy Aug 21, 2019 at 11:24 am

Awwww! That brings back a few memories.

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1. Isla Aug 22, 2019 at 12:29 pm
  
  Haha I’m not sure I’ve changed that much!
  
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Aileen Aug 21, 2019 at 11:35 am

Fabulous 😀 xx

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1. Isla Aug 22, 2019 at 12:28 pm
  
  Thank you! 😀
  
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Kat Couch Aug 22, 2019 at 3:35 am

Great stuff!

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1. Isla Aug 22, 2019 at 12:28 pm
  
  Thanks Kat!
  
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