Left Behind
Left Behind
I do not dread the flooding creeks,
The April torrent that sweeps between
The straining banks and wildly seeks
A deeper channel, the booming crash
Of rocks that scour the muddy stream
but leave behind debris and upstream “trash.”
We gather nature’s treasures left behind,
An ancient fire cast this bowl of clay;
An arrowhead must be a sign
Of hunters seeking food in bygone days.
The children’s toys left in the sand are gone,
The evidence of our own summer play--
Who will find the hot dog prongs?
I do not dread the flooding creeks,
We gather nature’s treasures left behind.
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