Little stream,
You bursted at your seams
from all the rain that fell.
I crossed your stepping stones,
and sat on a moss covered rock
on the other side.
I reached down and touched
your crystal clear, cold water.
Then, I watched you flow down
the gentle hill, until your winding
glistening rivulets ran out of sight.
Little stream.
By TiffanyCreek
On Tiffany Creek 