The Creek

The Creek

Harvesting future sauerkraut,
Paddling the lake.
Spearing for a rainbow trout
Baking cornbread cake.

Smothing down an arrowhead,
Digging trilobites.
Walking where our brothers bled,
Singing funeral rites.

Hiking back along the creek,
Past the cherry trees.
Raspberries, they seem so meek,
But bloody up the knees.

Creekbed slowly running dry,
But then a waterfall.
A pause to sit and wonder why,
To hear the blue jay call.

Water drops into the pool
Like a giant tear.
Elders preach a peaceful rule,
We pray for a plentiful year.

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 1975. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.