Muse Poem by Adrian Flett

When I was a child I'd run down the hill
not far from the house, to play beside a stream
then work up the valley to the place
where the eye broached from under a rock.
There clear spring water seeped and oozed
dripped into a small pool; stirred the air
cool, dark and green above moss, fern
and damp pebbles, as I'd watch and listen,
when I was a child.



Watch and listen with me now.At the broach
of the eye is a slow seep, the air stirs,
a growing dampness darkens pebbles
to a cool glisten of clear, sharp movement
as droplets gather in the font.
Sip from soft, small cupped hand,
then the long wait for the font to fill
as with child's eager gratitude
I sip and savour my words,
from whence they come.