Song From the Creek

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By David De Jong

I can hear the water singing in the creek
As I take the path with my walking stick
Rolling water over the rocks and dam
Built by a beaver, I’ll just call him Sam
His teeth have gnawed sev’ral trees near and far
Many still standing half hewn with a scar

Two ducks swiftly paddle and make their way
Down stream, past an enormous field of hay
Fresh hay in a windrow maze left to dry
Its pleasant aroma lifts to the sky
The ducks disappear in their secret slough
Building their nest out of everyone’s view

Pheasant tracks from picking up sand and rocks
Small pad prints in the mud left from the fox
One stalks the other following their prey
Some think it too cruel, but it’s nature’s way
The fox has young to feed as do the rest
Which one survives is the ultimate test

All along this walk the water still sings
Symphonic melodies in mesmeric rings
Pools of quiet mirrors, lullaby clouds
Spilling over the edge, tympani loud
All come to gather in their concert hall
All beckon an ear to their joyous call

Each serves their purpose in this life on earth
Creating this orchestra grand in worth
Each plays its piece in its part of the score
Requiring return to listen more
Pleasing to the Conductor keeping time
This song from the creek, its tempo sublime

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