ON SWIMMING
The rivers of this country are sweet
as a troubadour’s song,
the heavy sun wanders westward
on yellow circus wagons.
Little village churches
hold a fabric of silence so fine
and old that even a breath
could tear it.
I love to swim in the sea, which keeps
talking to itself
in the monotone of a vagabond
who no longer recalls
exactly how long he’s been on the road.
Swimming is like a prayer:
palms join and part,
join and part,
almost without end.
-Adam Zagajewski
Gladsome Lights 
Read aloud to the little; think he liked it. Will think of it when we head to the beach today.
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I love poetry more and more as I grow older! Thank you for this……
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I love this poem! And the water, especially the beach, which does keep talking to itself (in endless tones I love to hear).
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