No painter's palette can produce,
nor visionary's dream,
a place as close to paradise
as this, my mountain stream.
A place where color bursts from rocks
but no paint's been applied,
and symphonies of song sing out
when stones and stream collide.
The day may come when heaven's gate
swings wide to welcome me,
but 'til that day when I seek peace,
this stream is where I'll be.
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Author Notes
My thanks to visionary poet, whose stunning photo inspired this poem. When I was looking for colleges, my counselor and family assumed I focused in on New England because that's where many competitive schools were concentrated. I never told them that while that was a factor, the main reason I wanted New England is because of all the rocky streams I had seen pictured there.
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