The Stream

Here's another poem that shows us we've got plenty to be thankful for. I attempted this one in the style of a slave song. Let me know what you think about it.

The Stream

The stream she come a rushin' by
her mouth all open wide,
Her voice a babblin' as she goes,
and she lappin' at her sides.
Over rock and under limb
she roll on to her end.
Each obstacle she push aside,
as she roll on round each bend.
As she roll she talk to me,
she take my cares away.
I sit and listen to her speak,
her voice be new each day.
Then at night she sing a song
so soft she bring me sleep,
On her waves my mind it roll,
my dreams be nice and sweet.
The stream she come a rushin' by,
the moonlight on her shine.
As I watch her roll along
my mind be lost in time.

Next time you happen to be next to a stream, listen closely. If you live near one, listen often. The voice of a stream changes as often as the weather does. With rain she shouts, with drought she whispers. At night she simply sings a quiet rhythmic song that can take your cares away if you let it. God knew what He was doing when He made streams.