8/28/08_1977_Pencil_Drawing8_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo
The waves reach up to tickle
The massive iceberg.
Beads of perspiration gather
At each ticklish lapping.
Oh, they hang out, trembling,
Afraid of falling into that trickster of an ocean,
Singing songs while they wait.
I am an iceberg, gliding.
Oh, I love being in your waters -
The waves that reach up always,
Tempting me to giggle, and melt.
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