Alone in the Pool
So softly I go that the heron
Who waits downstream has not stirred.
Perhaps he thinks me a bird;
Thinks me a brown bird gliding
The length of the waterway,
Alone with himself and the day!
Alone with the golden stormlight
And the trees in this quiet place
With the first of the rain in my face!
Between the sky and the water
Under the moving bough,
All that I love's with me now…..
Low cloud, and the fine drops flying;
Brown arms and face caressed
Close to the pool's dark breast.
I wonder….I wonder if ever
I'll be quite so happy again
As I am swimming here in the rain?
E. M. England, 1944
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