Lost Creek

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

 

Lost Creek

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