The Drowning Child

Flailing his arms, struggling in vain,

Was another child drowning,

In the grasp of the merciless waters;

He choked, and spluttered,

And gasped for air,

But none came, except more waters;

His resistance chipped

Apart bit by bit,

His struggles now perfunctory, languid;

 

P’rhaps the want of energy,

Slowed his labors to keep

His head above the waters;

Or p’rhaps, he understood

That death was near,

That there was no escape from its clutch;

 

Dark plaques appeared on the

Vision of the boy; and his shoulders

Sagged in resignation;

And so pushed and shoved and probed,

By the cutting streams of gushing waters,

He was swept ahead;

 

Some spirit, however, yet lurked

In his chest; and raising his hands,

He mustered energy to make one last struggle;

Beating back resignation into submission

To his wet but unusually daunting will

For the last time;

Having faith beyond the apparent death,

That so solemnly hung above his head,

To have one last go;

 

And lo! His hands closed around some icy metal;

A foothold found, he ascended it in desperation;

Vision somewhat clearing, the grey pylon

To which he clung to, loomed into focus;

Glancing down, some relief

Transpired in those naïve eyes;

The churning waters no longer could reach him.