brook the churning water flowing music like lyric with stones round and smooth and sharp and dirt, trees fallen dried sun patiently waiting to set when the hour wanes a friend warm and quiet words, life teaming and the early spring heat beckons to awaken a summer trance as spider webs glisten across the brook's edge and all the while my inner world lost in a current that longs for a distant shore and another wind to speak a sign or omen of what might come on the morrow, what might it bring, this wish, this day, this dream, ~ shadow ~

Arthur Paul Levine ©
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