The Brook

The Brook He lived near a brook By a scraggly nook So he fished every day Using string and no hook. His house made of sticks Three stairs made of bricks He sat on at sunset And did magic tricks. When the rain poured Through the house he adored He kept time with the dripping Slept soundly and snored. His dog was all matted And over fed fatted Would lie on his back As he loved to be patted. By the light of the fireflies He’d do that strange thing And fish for the moon With no hook and a string. He would watch the moon Move about in the brook And watch as the frogs Bit the moon and it shook. The stars sparkle danced On the brook’s rippled face To the drumbeat of crickets In a hot weathered pace. By the scraggly nook Of his wandering brook He fishes in dreams With a string and no hook.