White Water

The white tiger went on his way To where he had to go, He'd suffered the heat of the day, Now sought where waters flow... And oh what joy as he walked in, What wholesome sweet relief, As cooling water soothed his skin... Pure joy beyond belief... With gentle grace he swam a while And ripping waters trailed As if with magic to beguile... Each time, it never failed... There was a certain mystery, A miracle at least, A wistful end to misery That soothed this savage beast... And when his blood was cool once more, It now was time to leave... And so he swam to walk ashore, The heat no more to grieve... White water comes from waterfalls Then flows into a stream... And to this day, he still recalls God's gift as though a dream... (July 2011/The poem is based on the magnificent painting by Stephen Gayford called 'White Water'.)