Sitting On a Log

Sitting on a log Where we didn't find the frog, The frog that wouldn't bound; so wasn't there to make a sound. Exhibitting its mound. It would have been a song, resolving of known wrong. But it was there, in what was near unknown to us a clear. Now under there, beneath our log: spins dreams of disregard. Completion, filling what was wrong, interpreted through dreams and song. The water flows and ever-so, towards ways which we couldn't go A silent smoothly natural wisp, sharing for pure time with it. We see no wrong, we witness strong, Fueling energy among- How we see a day to day, complete in similarity. Those streams below that log we know, describe nothing but what's to show; a time we shared with what we know… as natures convoluted glow. Together on that log we sat. We understood as separate. We started something real serene, acknowledged thereof certainty; that once we leave for different things- the time we shared is still serene.