I'm alone. Eighteen years young.
Standing in water, up to my knees.
The rippling sound of water over stone
Is relaxing me. I am surrounded by trees.
I let my barbed hook go downstream
As I watch the Sun, slowly appease
The darkened shadows of this mountain creek,
For it is opening day; ice cold and has tweaked
My nose and my young cheek.
A little tug on my fishing line,
Set the hook and it will be fine.
If my luck holds I will limit by Nine.

Away we will go,
like a kite in the wind.
Into the bluest of blue
in the cloudless sky.
Flit to the branch
of a new, growing tree,
catching the Sun
as it passes by.
Nothing could be more
grand, for those eyes
of mine to see,
a reflection in your eyes,
and an image of me.

The broad fields of green and gold,
with mountains high, that enfold.
the blue of lakes in your eyes,
slowly, slowly will mesmerize
my mind and it's thoughts
with over powering scent
of those Forget Me Nots.

As I grow old,
growing more bold,
saying what's on my mind.
Do you suppose that
if no one knows
or they would be unkind,
looking at me,
unexpecting to see,
a find of talent?