Spring skirts kirtled high
streaming downstream.
Wayward laughter
wraps around
staccato splash
of bare, sun stroked feet,
slapped in flamenco rhythm
against a worn pebbled bed.
Wind whipped ragtail hair,
teased gilt
in Apollo's open stare
at two, without a care
homeward speeding.
Tattered tales
told in touseled tresses,
torn gingham dresses
and a bucket of frogspawn
apiece.
Bound to be a Prince
in there
looking for true Princesses.
04
==========
minor edit 20.03.10
