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Bridget Mulder

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Raleigh, NC, US

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The Creek, My Friend

by

Bridget Mulder

As I was growing up
By the river's side,
I went down there alot,
Just to get away from it all.

The sounds of the water flowing,
The crashing waterfall,
Made rippiling, peaceful sounds,
Even though the creek was not big, at all.

There were small stones and bits of shell,
Down by the water's edge.
There were birds in the trees.
And squirrels all around,
There were spiderwebs in the trees.

A familiar sound, the echoing type,
Would beckon to me from my house.
The echoing of the water's flowing sound,
Off the wall of dirt, rock, and sand,
On the left side of the creek.

And even though I can't go there anymore,
Can't go down there on the banks,
I can write and tell about it,
About the creek, my friend.