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Susan K. Rowse

When Otters, Marshes and Creeks Were Mine

They play today in cool dark tea
The waters of this creek to be
The tilt-a-whirl of their home
The briny ebb that tops with foam
They float away this Sunday morn
Ignore the noise of motors horn
Their big brown eyes and deep dark fur
Which is a HIM and which is HER
Their tiny clicks that split this day
As these sea otters dart and play
Their Frisbee...oysters...sailing free
Playing here...right near the sea
Funny creatures of soft small smiles
Reaching out for miles and miles.
Clawed small hands that reach and grab
Pink tinted claws of a fiddler crab
Playing with each tidal ounce
Giggling in the washing bounce
Innocent ones no care for the woes
When days like this gives into flows
That are amusement for animals
Whose life is given within parameters
For Wetlands are the endangered lands
When money speaks to hardened men
When natures life is given away
So bank loads give to men who pay
The price of echoes from a time
When otters, marshes and creeks were mine.