As we hop over the boggy river
We leap like gazelles,
Trying not to get wet
But someone always falls in,
Our muddy hands and knees
Would remind us of our success,
Wet feet not so much.
We would throw rocks
Attempting to skim them on the surface,
Remembering the disappointment
Of only hopping two or three times,
But carrying on for hours until
You finally got that golden throw
That raises trophies.
Sap and moss would cling
To your soft skin,
Making it rough like the bark
That you had been climbing,
But our innocence was as pure
As the nature I grew to love
And continue to love.