It slowly flows in a gentle stream and into a placid lake.
It cascades down mountain's jagged cliffs in a frenzied hurried dance,
Both joined by a rainbow in the mist - a bridge that marries two.
The old maple, near death, only one limb left - still reaching,
Yet in its shade, refuge from the heat and a robin is nesting -
And the spring sap flows sweetly for the breakfasts of winter.
From the porch she sees the mist in the mountains where they once ran.
She shuffles to the old maple where he first kissed her years ago
And then she smiled that same smile that her granddaughter runs to.