Babbling Little Brook

for my precious granddaughter, Brooke whom I hope one day will be able to talk again… The babbling little brook , was enjoying the warmth of the autumn sun, Thinking about where her waters flowed, then wondering from where they come, She was lined with a mosaic of pebbles, all different sizes and kinds, Some had a glittering sparkle, holding minerals that could be refined- As the sun went down and night arrived, the moon with the stars sprinkled light, Little brook awaited for winter months, when she’d be covered in a blanket of white, A few simple answers, she thought, then a happier brook I’d be, Searching for wisdom high and low, she gazed up at the conifer trees- The babbling little brook, was seldom all alone, Surrounded by picturesque beauty, in a mountain forest she called home, There had to be other water sources, but where could they be found? She knew that all of the forestlands, composed 1/3 of earth’s precious ground- Winter passed, then spring arrived, the little brook to the brim was full, A wise old owl flew across her path, letting his words in the gentle winds blow, "Precious little brook," he hooted real loud, "you hold the mountain's melting snow, and as it travels down and leaves you, dear, it’s out to the sea where it goes"- Knowing from where her waters came, and where they'd end up to be, made the little brook happy, as she greeted the summer with glee, Campers and animals were her friends, this was her favorite time of year, Often the focus of a photographer’s lens, she gave drink to all that came near!