Follow That Stream

The fresh mountain water, cascaded with glee, Splashing and dashing over rocks and debris, Churning and turning, in unseemly haste, No time on it’s way to the sea, would it waste. I followed its journey as well as I could, Until I was blocked, by an impassable wood, The trees were so close, and the Bracken so dense, I tried to skirt round it, but was stopped by a fence. Having decided to set up camp Just for the night, I had only just pitched, when the day lost its light, I made myself cosy, with a safely lit fire, eating sizzling sausages, before I had to retire. I awoke in a tent, from a warm lethargic sleep, nature also wakened, from a sleep just as deep, Enchanted and surrounded by the birds, and other calls, The constant noise and gushing, from the nearby waterfalls. I had to travel back that night, I wish I could have stayed, North wales, is the place where, I mostly roam, And luckily it's not that far, from my home. Driving back, the waning sun, painted the clouds, and the Mountain tops bright, In hues and shades , of golden light, which then turned to shadows, in the approaching dark of night.