[SAMWolf]

A Brook in the City



The firm house lingers, though averse to square
With the new city street it has to wear A number in.
But what about the brook That held the house as in an elbow-crook?
I ask as one who knew the brook, its strength
And impulse, having dipped a finger length
And made it leap my knuckle, having tossed
A flower to try its currents where they crossed.
The meadow grass could be cemented down
From growing under pavements of a town;
The apple trees be sent to hearth-stone flame.
Is water wood to serve a brook the same?
How else dispose of an immortal force
No longer needed? Staunch it at its source
With cinder loads dumped down? The brook was
thrown Deep in a sewer dungeon under stone
In fetid darkness still to live and run -
And all for nothing it hd ever done
Except forget to go in fear perhaps.
No one would know except for ancient maps
That such a brook ran water. But I wonder
If from its being kept forever under
The thoughts may not have risen that so keep
This new-built city from both work and sleep.

Robert Frost

Michael miserable failureMoore

[Soaring Feather]

Yesterday, my thoughts went to babbling brook play
when as a child many hours I did while away
on the banks of a babbling brook at play

Hours of listening to her whispering
little songs to robins and dragonflies

Under unturned rocks crabs would live
and I would disturb them in there daily life
by opening up their world to the light.

In cattail filled ditches by the road
I might encountered a little brown toad
or a leopard frog all spotted and green
with big bulging eyes to be seen

And In tuffs of stripped grass
did grow the tall and hollow stakes
of yellow
swamp iris to go home to mom
with a grin
for she knew where I had been...

By babbling brooks a listenin'....

bentfeather
04.30.04