7 Oct 2020
Fingers blue with cold and yet caked grey
Another fruitless rag-soaked day
Dreams as ever unfulfilled
Tide incoming around her feet milled
Exposed ship timbers
Becoming dimmer
Sun now sinking into the wreck
Leaving her alone and bereft
Night clouds bringing in the dark
End of her hopes for our little mudlark
52 words written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Mudlark
crispina kemp 
A lovely poem Crispina
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Thank you. Not much I could do with the given word
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You’re welcome! I think you did very well.
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🙂
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Poor thing 😕
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It was a way of life, once upon a time
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It wasn’t a good life for those who depended on it
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Tomorrow’s another day, hopefully, a more fruitful one. A perfect take.
My 52 words!
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Well done, Crispina. All of this poem can be felt.
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Thank you, Bill 🙂
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A very thoughtful use of the prompt, Crispina, which also sensitively puts yourself in their shoes 🙂
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Thank you. Maybe it helped that I had the photo 🙂
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The photo helped, Crispina! But it’s a strong poem, regardless 🙂
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Thank you, Sunra
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I like this a lot. Poor girl.
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Such was life for so many, and through this they survived
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I could feel the cold mud on my hands. Well done, you!
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I tell you, no way would I want to dapple in that mud! No. No. No!
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Me neither! Only mud I’ve ever enjoyed was the volcanic mud slathered all over my body, let dry and then rinsed off, leaving skin as soft as a baby’s bottom 😉 But that happened only once in Costa Rica, so there is that.
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Volcanic mud and river silt, 2 entirely different muds
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Yes, I am aware 🙂
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🙂
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