Girls In Wet Boots Poem by Ian Bowen

Girls in wet boots,
paddled, holding jam jars
and fishing nets,
their long skirts tucked
into thick, cotton knickers.
They tossed the ribbons of plaits,
laughed like the tinkling
of this slow-flowing, silver stream.

Under a July blaze of a sun,
in our high, tin camp;
supported on branches of beech,
we boys watched, prodded
and whispered to each other
of secret love letters.
Devotees of newly formed breasts,
the sap rose in our safe tree…

as Summer fused memories.