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A Stream With A Dream
Burbling brook wending needled forest floor,
playing hide and seek with sunbeams,
by tinkling pebbles tempo,
minnows shimmer in the endless liquid score.
This little stream, an artist/'/s dream,
recalled the depths of darkest earth;
till up, up, up, into the light
whence it flowed in endless birth.
Springing from the dappled spring,
every drop in joy to sing, be of the song,
so pleased to be, no mind to size,
at first so right in time grew wrong.
The oaks and pines now left behind,
(so sad, those saplings at the truth),
the brook recalled, though now a stream
as the gulf between them grew.
“A mighty river, that/'/s for me!”,
as one swam in and out of sight,
in tandem flow, when close it called,
“Someday /'/ll give you a fight!”
“Oh, really, young whipper snap?,
with no thought to what/'/s in store for you,
I drink creeks and streams the same all day;
how do you think I grew?”
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