Backpacking in the mountains high,
Up in the clouds, where land meets sky,
I came upon a dancing brook,
As hiked along in heaven's nook.
Down mountain's side in headlong race,
From snowcapped peaks of pure white grace,
To valley floor down far below,
Where beaver's dam, stops stream's wild flow.
Unbroken sheen; clear crystal glass,
Reflecting peaks of mountain's pass,
Ringed by aspens, with rock lined shore,
As stand atop, at God's front door.
From virgin snow, to tranquil lake,
While in between, wild path does take,
I stand and ponder little brook,
And of the journey that it took.
[This message has been edited by Mike (edited 01-17-2000).]