Tatterbrook - J.B.L. (offered by Mary Koon)
Little brook, running through my
early years, I love thee...
Out of the womb of the mountain,
sired by storm and summer shower:
forever old and yet forever new.
But you were oh so small!
How could it be that what you taught
would ever be enough for me?
I sought great rivers,
listened to their message
many a weary winter, many a promised spring.
I looked upon the sea
and dard not try to understand
so vast a thing.
Tired of wandering
I came again to thee, dear brook:
the gentle place where serch began.
Almost too late, I found
in swift shallow
and quiet pool
A fleeting glimpse it was at best
but just enough for me to know
where I had lost my happiness.