Morning
sun sends streaks of rays
to nurture icy creeks;
they
turn to stars in rippled waves
that devour sparkling treats;
A
nourishing celestial meal
quenched by melting snow,
sustains
small life which you conceal
in relentless hurried flow;
I
softly step your frozen shore
and peer through water's sheen;
some
shiners dance your sandy floor
which currents have swept clean;
A
chilly breeze whose presence known
by brushstrokes on your surface,
has
scripted a concentric poem
upon your glossy canvas;
The
wind yields silence through your trees,
no leaves to sing its rapture;
it
wanders upstream aimlessly,
leaving but a whisper;
Then
finds on perch a great-horned owl
to walnut branch it clings,
and
relentlessly starts teasing now
until the bird takes wing;
And
suddenly this quiet grace
erupts in noisy chorus,
a
flock of crows gives raucous chase
this sentinel of your forest;
The
valley's blessed by peace once more
as intrusion slowly fades;
Chickadees
show a grand support
by calling out their names;
Did
you see the drama in your depths
or taste the frosted snow?
Did
you feel the cold wind to your breast
or hear the birds' fine prose?
It
matters not, I sense inside,
if winter streams don't know,
the
special treasures they provide
these pleasures to my soul.
Nicely done, Ken. I can see the water and hear it and feel the cold air and the cickadees are right above my head... Thanks for sharing this poem.
ReplyDeleteThanks Roy. I pulled this one from the files to match up with some recent photos. I was quite surprised to see it was dated about 25 years ago!
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