The Stream Poem by Richard Netherland Cook

Down in the woods, not far,
From where the Creek Sedge Grasses grow,
And the Button Bushes are,
Flows a quiet little stream I know.

Meandering along through the wood,
Flowing on stony ways,
Passing by where the old mill stood,
Just wilding away the days.

Splashing about are speckle trout,
Where sunny shadows dance in glee,
In and out and there about,
On it's journey to the sea.

Fallen leaves twist and turn,
And race about like play,
And pale green leaves of royal fern,
In gentle breezes sway.

Down through gullies and revines,
Over mossy beds and shallows bright,
As it murmurs past the woodland scenes,
Through day and dark of night.

Waters glide where fishes hide,
In pools where willows bend,
And shallow ripples gleam and slide,
Through hollow and mountain glen.

The beauty of a woodland stream,
Is a part of nature's art,
And the gentle sound of the waters flow,
Seems to purify the heart.

By
Richard Netherland Cook