The Brook

In the crook of the arm
Beneath the hill
Where cool mist rests
Serene and still
Like a silver sea
In a silent dell
A mystery……
No, I know it well
Beneath its veil
The small murmurs
Of a silver trail
In a thousand summers
By a brook
Where bare feet splashed
And minnows flitted
And hours laughed
In the palm
Of out-stretched hand
Where minutes trickled
Like golden sand
Upon a porch
Of withered grass
Where now I watch.
As memories pass

All Rights Reserved
Janet Martin