This poem comes without great explanations. Just a wee musing about water. Because I like it.
Body of water
Water all around me,
top, bottom, left and right,
I live in Scotland,
home of wet, drench and soak,
Mother of all rain.
Waterlogged,
inside and out.
Our bodies,
mostly good old H2O.
That stuff has been around since the year dot,
and still,
it flows,
flows,
like there’s no tomorrow,
no yesterday either,
not even today,
just now.
Sneaks in and out,
a tidal creature that never tires.
Cold, warm,
a surge,
who cares?
Don’t underestimate the power of a drop.
It’s got friends.
Family.
On ocean of mates.
I like standing on a beach,
right at the water’s edge,
my feet tickled by the incoming crest.
My body of water meets the waves,
the salt,
as an equal.
Always.
In the end,
we’re all just coming and going,
like the sea.
There’s nothing more to it.
There doesn’t need to be.
It’s fun.
Odds & Ends - Poetry Blog 
Fantastic! I always marvel at the power of water, how a slow drip, drip, drip can create a stalagmite, how a steady stream can erode solid rock and create a cavern, how a tidal flow can wash away whole villages and cliffs. It gives assurance that, with time, anything can be achieved.
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Well put, Peter, and so true: with time anything can be achieved. Good or bad, to be fair. I remember a burst pipe in my home and it turned out that water can work very, very fast, if it wishes to…
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…and a slow drip in a house can undermine the foundations over time! (I dare say a few ladies have said that about their partners!)
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