One summer day, when working in the fields
Of balsam trees, under the sun's torment,
I ceased to trim the branches of dark green,
And dropped my tools, and to the river went.

As I approached the bank a small otter
Scampered across my path, all chocolate brown.
I watched it disappear in the bushes,
And then followed the bank where it
sloped down.

I reached the river's edge and shed
my shoes,
The water's voice enticing me to swim.
Its depth was shallow, and its current soft;
I just could not resist, and waded in.

The water wrapped me with its cool comfort,
And washed away the sweat and sap
and grime.
I felt as fine as any emperor
That bathed in milk in ancient Roman times.

And while I swam in that soothing river,
I wondered if the otter I had seen
Disliked having a stranger in his house
(No doubt the river his had always been).

What-e'er he thought, he need not
have worried.
My work required an end to my respite.
I left my swim and put my shoes back on,
Returning to my tree-trimming till the night.