This aquatic centre is brimming blue,
Humid with chlorine, the tiered seats are full,
Family phones raised and all set to view,
The names in lanes on-screen above the pool.

A whistle, a tense silence, all are prone...
They'll dive deep into the glassy plane,
And glide beneath, to rise in splash and foam,
As they finally surge to mixed acclaim.

My grandson standing on the starting block,
His body is taut and eager to move.
He's ready to race now against the clock,
With age, he will see his lap-times improve.

But his measured strokes hide a mortal truth,
Astride the rippling edge of fleeting youth.

[Sonnet from a collection by S.C.N. Pockley]

(CC) reserved by Simon Pockley [contact] (CC) [contact]