the stream keeps flowing
what now floats on the surface
gone within a blink
yet writers are remembered
by ink which flowed from their pens
the stream keeps flowing
what now floats on the surface
gone within a blink
yet writers are remembered
by ink which flowed from their pens
sunrise and sunset
sometimes the only colors
on a winter day
day after day of greyness
where oh where is the North Star
a walk in the woods
just what a thirsty soul needs
on a winter day

feasting on the sun
painting melodious notes
and the clouds’ refrain
the water’s not calm
learn to accept the unseen
beneath the surface