Lost Creek
A brooklet is a wandering poetry
Constant in its direction
Yet fluid in its ways
An ever changing constant, aware
Of the fickle winds and weathers
In these moments all these come together
Creating the magnificently peaceful masterpiece
This constant power is being released
Changing every rock and form
The sunlight becomes just a little too warm
So I’ll move my path’s direction
The blue-black fly lands on my crease
Interrupting the serene reflections
But the autumn wind whisks it away
The winds speak of the coming snows
No courage can the creeping thing muster
It hurries on out of my natural space
A memory like this cannot be erased
A forever monument is forever created
In the midst of this wandering way
It is a good day
Songs From the River 