Speaking Other Language
By Mary Harwell Sayler
What do we know
of the cool brook’s rising
slowly from its rock-source:
trickling, winding, fading
among the lilied grasses then
suddenly splitting the tomb
of another field where cows
laze in live-oak shade, waiting
good-naturedly for just
such a miracle to happen?
© 2012, Mary Harwell Sayler from Living in the Nature Poem, published by Hiraeth Press