I listen to the burbling creek.
This is my anchor, holding fast,
my tether for this peace to last.
I come to seek rest every week.
At this place in the oak grove stand.
As music floats from nature's band.
As I repose my knees grow weak.
Unwilling to depart this ground,
where thoughts flow freely, heaven-bound.
Such sacred bliss I often seek.
To stave off every lonely thought --
Those persistent could, would, and aughts.
Sitting thus, by nature's boutique
embracing the present moment --
This brief order of bestowment.
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