The Listening
Like children at play
I hear them babble,
Ever skipping away
Over rocky rabble
And all ten toes
On my own two feet,
Watching as it goes
Before I retreat
These eyes alone
Caught rainbow trout,
His home below shone
With the dawn about
Was swiftly running
Throughout the wood,
And deeply sunning
As best it could
The coldest brook
Born of the snow,
Months it took
For spring to show
Clearest river waters
Were ever glistening,
I stood, a squatter,
For the listening.
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2023
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