I stumble onto a cute little brook
I stop and take a long time for a look
It's water clear and truely pure
It's turns perminent making it's desitions sure
But I also notice that there are whirlpools and trenches
And on the side, some old rusty benches
Fish depend on the brook and It depends on the hill
I glance donw and see a farm fresh and ready to till
The brook is used, but never really uses anything
It knows It's a pesent not a queen or king
Imho brooks are above kings
Imho brooks are above kings and queens in status
(No till agriculture doesn't pollute brooks the way tilling does)
a sweet poem
thanks :) whats Imho?
thanks :) whats Imho?