On a Brook

Posted: April 8, 1992 in Poetry
Tags: , , ,

On coming to a brook I think I’ll find
A way across from rock to slip’ry rock.
The gaps between are wide and hard to time
When jumping ‘cause they’re just too far to walk.
My strides are longer with the nerve to leap;
A sure-foot method always startles me.
Even though I am not the one to creep
From stone to stone, then on a fallen tree.
The brook is lovely, dark and deep in those
Odd places where stones sit with mossy hair.
To run across, split seconds’ grip with toes?
To plot and place my soles with ginger care?
Still no one minded the time that I took
To doff my shoes and socks to wade the brook.

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