(Inspired by my Dad’s paintings, I wrote this poem. If you like his paintings please drop by my other blog, http://picturesofcreativeminds.wordpress.com, in January for his first web exhibition.)
Bubbling out from a spring high in the mountains, comes the water, cool and clear,
Rushing down a steep rocky lane, it dashes and sparkles in frothy spray,
Down through wilds it advances, pushing rocks and dirt in its path,
The steep slopes now are behind, departed, on winding, downward splash!
Sweeping under the footbridge up in the highlands, comes the water, fast and light,
Falling down narrow sloped rocks, it sprints and splatters midst rocky array.
Down to the waterfalls it splits, plunging over worn rocks to crash,
In the whirlpool below, wits jumbled, round churning, onward flash!
Skipping low tributary in the forest deep, comes the water, lithe and strong,
Cutting down the grooved forest floor, it batters and erodes the rocks away,
Down to the deep river it joins, roaring flow sounding like a lash,
Over the choppy rapids, tumbled fro, clothes washing, forward smash!
Flowing and winding river in the lands below, comes the water, dull and broad,
Roaming down the open expanse, it slackens and deposits silt to stay,
Down to the marshes it divides, straying finger-trails seek to pass,
The distant slopes but a dream, forgotten, and yawning, southward cache.
Trickling through the hollows hidden in woodlands, comes the water, hushed and sleek,
Sneaking down between grass and tree, it twines and whispers as if to pray,
Down to the thicket it passes, snaking round reeds like liquid glass,
Off to industry and homes, it travels, reaching, eastward amass.
Slapping over the mill wheel in the quaint hamlet, comes the water, fresh and free,
Rippling down the rocks on low, it glints and reflects the setting of day,
Down to peaceful lake it filters, calming, day ebbing, almost past,
Under ducks on the surface, so restful, the lapping; home at last!