A Shallow Stream Poem by Marilyn Shepperson

The stream meanders slowly
In no rush to meet its' end
As if it knows this patch of water
Will eventually meet with the river
Of which it is a tributary
Like every patch of water
That has passed this way before
So, why rush to meet it today
When it can so easily meet it tomorrow
Or the day after
Not very wide and certainly shallow
It is no home to those large fish
That fishermen like to sport with
But only minnows and sticklebacks
Live within its' crystal waters
The swallows fly its' length
Both up and down
Catching beaks full of insects
During drowsy summer days
And so, through tiny villages
Passing sheep and cow filled fields
As it has for a thousand years
It continues on its' way
Until at last it meets the river
Where a group of mighty willows satnd
Trailing their fronds and hiding trout
Just before the old water mill
And here this patch of the streams water
Reaches its' journeys end.