John Russell McCarthy

THERE, little swimmer—that was a good, game fight.

If you’d gone down again ….. but all’s well now—

The shore is close now, scarce a quarter-mile,

And we’ll be drinking tea before you know it.

Slow work, girlie, it does seem slow, I know—

But that’s no matter, so we’re moving in.

The wind, I think, is holding us back a little.

Odd that there isn’t anyone in sight!

It seems we’ll have to make it by ourselves.

We must keep moving in. My arm, my arm—

It’s all right now, I see it’s moving yet,

But I can’t feel it. Strange …
This wind …
The water

Is fishy—did you notice that? It smells.

And then it pulls, keeps pulling, pulling ….. Cold.

No, dear, that’s not the way we go, not down.

That was a strange idea, to go down.

Still, curly-head, it seems quite simple, too:

You always had uncommon notions, dear,

And figured out such strange adventures always.

This new idea may be very fine;

It may be even wild enough for you,

My little wild one. For there will be caves—

You’ll pick us out a little wonder-cave

With golden portals—golden as your hair.

It will be very cozy, with four rooms—

And always the clear cool water—you and I

Will find weird flowers in strange and secret gardens—

You and I—
Yes—you are always right—

We’ll go—my love—we’ll go adventuring—