The Mountain Stream

A mountain stream that tumbles and flows, From hilltops to valleys, a clear, crisp delight, It dances and twirls, where the cool water goes, It sings to the rocks, sparkling bright.

With pebbles beneath, that glimmer and shine, It laughs with the wind, in a carefree spree, A journey it makes, through the grass and the pine, To the rivers that wait for it, wild and free.

Oft in the quiet, I sit by its side, And listen to tales that it has to tell, For the mountain stream knows, like the ebb of the tide, The secrets of earth, and the magic so well.

• John Burroughs