Thank you, Anni. Maybe I'm a masochist because I do like making things difficult for myself. I considered rhyming each line as well, but that was a bridge too far. Perhaps next time...
Turbid and frantic,
the stream leaps from its mountain bed,
the mist of its scouring
obscuring the depths of snow melt,
source of its vibrant play,
churning and roiling in joy,
for now unmindful
of old age and reflection.
Line count: 8
Free verse
For Express It In Eight, 09.07.22
Prompt: Turbid.
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