Water Fight

They had brightly colored pistols;
I, a dark green plastic pitcher;
So commenced the little battle
on that August afternoon.

Smiling, giggling, laughing, spying,
they would try to sneak around, but
I could hear their loud commotion
as they squeezed their puny triggers.

Streams of wetness on the chest and
in the face and reaching back I
swung my pitcher drenching them
while they dashed to miss my arc.

Round and round we ran around the
yard, laughing, screeching, smiling,
squirting, tossing, giggling, panting.
Then at last the guns went still.

Pitcher empty, guns now dry, we
giggled on the ground and watched as
clouds slipped by. I thought my children
truly are my greatest assets.