Ramblings of a babbling brook
This brook in the woods I pass in the winter
It babbles and blisters and wanders and splinters
In all sorts of directions grinding and winding
Turns back in connection then to itself binding
Like limbs of a squid with their purpose undid
A playground of kids with rules they've rid
Not rigid or timid, free flows with no limit
Nothing to follow, full of depth's wildest grit
A space not to wallow, fills up all its hollow
Ill will and doubt with my pride it can swallow
Like veins it runs through with no skin to confine
This brook in the woods of a place that's all mine
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