The brook never dries,
That is its promise.
"As long as there's skies,
I run on."
Clear and cold,
rocks cup and hold
nature's gifts to ponder.
Blue heron stands
still as a staff,
mink never stops
its "wander".
Red leaves are caught,
they tumble and play,
a wonderful gift,
this water ballet.
Brook thoughts drift peacefully
over joys of the past
of grace and times,
that memory holds fast.
I go on to another place,
the brook goes ,forever after.
'til once again in this peaceful place
I'll hear its running laughter.
