They call me Singing River
I am a gentle soul
My waters melt over my rocks.
We travel faster in the rain.
Tinkling and gurgling softly.
The sand remains unmoving in my bottoms.
Children wade in me, but not when there is lightning.
Two of them call me Singing River.
Not realizing I am a brook.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2019