A brook that runs under my feet
and goes on and on to where
the ferns and cattails meet.
A brook that runs around
like it wants to be free
and bubbles as if it were laughing at me.
A brook the sings in harmony
with crickets playing lullabies
on harps we cannot see.
The dew drops, so lacy and light
glimmer on the sandy bank
somewhere between day and night.
The moon, her silvery fingers,
making everything glow
on the beautiful brook I used to know. Current Mood: cold