Creek
Running Clear beneath my feet
Winding between rocks and grass
Slurping and dripping down a small waterfall.
No legs but always moving,
Until winter curses you solid.
You rise with the rains,
And lower in time of drought.
Will time bless you with never ending flow?
Or will you someday run out?
The true philosopher and the true poet are one, and a beauty, which is truth, and a truth, which is beauty, is the aim of both.
Ralph Waldo Emerson, American Poet (1803-1882)
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| Your Rock and Roll | 0 | 06/18/2009 |
| The Carousel | 1 | 06/15/2009 |
| Questions Unanswered | 0 | 06/15/2009 |
| Creek | 0 | 06/12/2009 |
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