Eating on the forest river

Wading across the ice cold water,
Clad in combat boots.
Grinning like the Gollum of the Ring,
Stumbling around the mossy boulders.
Lunch time comes,
And armed with a packet of rice,
I wade to the middle of the chatting stream,
And found my spot on a nice flat rock.
I’ve found my spot?
I’ve found my spot!
How more orgasmic can it get,
Eating on the forest river,
Feet in the water,
Getting my toes wet?
Mr Eightlonglegs spinning a web on my right,
A wasp waltzing with its catch on his right.
On a long leaf bouncing up and down,
A silver blue damselfly could be found.
Someone’s slippper got washed away!
Playfully, the current with it ran.
Jumping into the river, I half-swam,
And grabbed back the footwear from the river hand.
Wet! Wet! Now I’m ice-cold wet!
From head to toe,
From hairs to glands.
The summer bug drones its silly tune,
The sun beats down on my neck.
This is life, this is Life Sciences,
Not the crap they teach back at Lecture Land!
See my pathetic pictures,
Hear my silly poem.
No experience of the forest river
Is complete
Without the Sense of Touch.

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