Cry Me a River

Cry me a river,

weep me a stream,

sob me a rivulet

on autumn-clad dream.

Mourn me a pretty brook

dappled with rain,

so I will know I can

let go of this pain.

Moss

Rolling stones won’t gather moss,

but what of those that do?

Stationary, stable sorts

will sport green fuzz, it’s true –

for as the current trickles past

with music, soft and low,

the rocks will give their mossy guests

a lovely place to grow.

Serenity’s Lullaby

Liquid sunshine, rays of gold

Dappled ‘neath the shade

Trickling water, springtime brook

Lending liquid-ade

Grass and mushroom, tree and thorn

Reaching to the sky

Froggy chorus, forest hymn –

Serenity’s lullaby

My Mother’s Day treat was to go for a family hike along a local river, searching for ‘The Rock’.  There is a huge rock, covered with fossils, lying within the riverbed.  Large enough for our family of four to picnic on, we haven’t been to visit for several years.  To access the river proper, we ford a brook – and its damp shores are smothered in marsh flowers.   The Rock was not to be accessed this year – the water level was too high.  But the hike was lovely – and the serenity of Nature at her best drew out this little verse.  Isn’t our world magnificent?