The Babbling Brook
Where have you been, my babbling brook?
You’re passing then roving afar,
The pale moon is distant, I see it so well,
And further away is the star.
Your waters are lucid but your birth is unclear,
As you sing and you skip on your way.
You eddy and prance, you frolic and dance,
Whilst we flowers are rooted in clay.
“My mother was moss on a sweet mountain knoll,
And my droplets were sweet mother’s tear,
When taking my leave there was no time to grieve,
By a spring that was crystal-like clear.”
“I took and returned as I dampened the fields,
With rain and the sweet morning dew,
So I dance on my way through night and through day,
The fountain of life, I renew.”
But where will you go as your sing your goodbye,
We shall miss you, my sweet mountain stream,
Will you seek the great sea to roam the world free?
And leave the sweet meadows to dream.
“In a lake I shall dwell by the pastures and dell,
Where the lilies and reeds are my veil,
The breezes will blow and your flowers will grow,
From my bosom for forest and vale.”
Michael (Walsh) 07.11.13
quite_write@yahoo.co.uk