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