The Wee Stream

The Wee Stream

Through fields where wildflowers grow, A silver ribbon winding slow just whispers soft-light-a-dancing moon in light gentle night.

Holds smooth round stones: Telling tales wdlessly. Over the willow brow-weeping branches, Where secrets of the water sleep.

And children splash in a summer's glow as rushes and reeds, listlessly bow. Autumn in chill, impaled on prongs-I will carry it leaves under trees. weaving dreams.

Now it still flows with the arrival of winter: A frozen mirror is silent, chilled. But under that cold glass of frost,

The stirs with a current, promising spring when warmth will return.

Small river, steadfast ever free, You've caught the melody of life itself: An endless journey that is so small,

A humble path keeping them safe.