The Stream

Come sit with me

near the waters edge.
Run with me

through the grass.
Bask in the sun

when the playing is done.
Use the stream as a looking glass.

We will run

in the meadow,

chasing fireflies,
Use the trees

as our hiding places.
Run for home base as

fast as we can,
while the stream splashes our faces.

Gone are the days

when we played for fun,
so are the days

when we waded the stream.
Seeing it again

all swift and clear,
I know it wasn't a dream.

Author, Ceceilia Robinson

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