Oak Mountain Echoes

Shady Brook
It used to sprawl down this hill in a tumble,
Singing and talking,
Flinging itself through twigs and brambles,
Leaving them shaking.

Now brown leaves, pebbles, and a dead willow
Mark the dry course,
Faint signs that I can scarcely follow
To find the old source.

Seems all of it must have escaped for good
From the sand and gravel,
Fled downhill, across the road, to the woods,
Seeking its level.

It grieves me like personal disaster,
Though I never owned it,
Unless it became mine only after
I lost and mourned it.

Page 5 (copyright 2001 Joanne R. Cage)

1st prize, State 1994

Published, The Sampler, 1994