Nude summer feet
on sheepish boulders falling,
……….through peasant ices’ glacial tread
floe following light, tripping
roll, down running fleet
……….biting toes with
………………..ever-glancing snows
………………………..green-moistened lisp.
Piedmont: by Bonnie McClellan
Bonnie McClellan-Broussard 
That looks like a fabulous swimming hole, Bonnie. Your poem captures the atmosphere and allure of it beautifully.