A burbling place,
tall-treed, brooked.
Quiet-musicd haven
decked with pentateuchs
formed in patient stones.
-
- Ones a seat for rest.
Adorned with moss
and upstart seedlings,
it cooly bears me,
musing on the flow.
-
- A spaniels splash rends
this sweet seclusion,
ripples memories of wading ;
my bare feet on smooth stones,
smiling world around.
-
- What must I know, God,
to step more lightly
on Your stony way?
To joy-walk in Your service,
grateful for each liquid day.
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