Memoirs nature poetry poetry

POETRY: That Old Wild Stream

In my younger years
Oh, blissful morning
The dew, the sun rises,
The sweet, sweet stream

Stringing a song to sing,
oh blissful morning
This, like a song I sing on
that old wild stream.

My memories of
That old wild stream has
Broken when I saw them swept
The rocks, the floor, the species and all

Destroyed, killed, exploited, abused
How sad to think,

Oh precious tad.

Waters run dry, fishes let fly
Could we do something not to let them cry?
Oh, be shy!

Don’t make haste not to see them die.
Poor pond, weary heart
Of mine, I love to
come back my memories

of that old wild stream.

****

About the Poem

I wrote this poem, “That Old Wild Stream” to reminisce the memories of my yesteryears living in the province.

*Photo:Β brocku.ca

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