The Babbling Brook

Hey, merry day-walker

Did the sun kiss your cheeks?

Or the wind prod you onwards?

All to find a babbling brook

And wile the hours away talking

But in dead of night, I rise

To a moon that fills me wholly,

Swaddled by wind as still as death

The brook doesn’t babble here, no

It spits and curses foam and pulls

All life to sink beneath its depths

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