A Wild Thing.

The boisterous sheet of morning-fresh water Tumbled, discharging explosive noise down Into a torrent of rainbowing, caught From the top of a towering black-crowned Cliff, splintering light all around, until Its' implosion quelled further sound, breaking Surface with frothy rumpus on the still Limpid calm of flat-plate sun-filtered lake Alongside which, from bullrushy reeds swam The Vision - head high and gliding, he Silently paced, hastily dipped, then began A random, wild-eyed, free-diving spree, Slipping occasional glances at me. Only for moments this show of Otter Elation. - Soon distanced to a mere blot On shimmering water, but I never forgot The Otter, me, and such wild joy we begot.