My Little Stream

A small river wriggles its way
From the hills through my backyard
It's turbid colour of brown pour
On the bed during the rains
And it turns to a tantalising resplendence
Out of season

I watch its conversations
With fallen logs on its way
And cataracts making surfs of its flow
This is what I want to see in the country
And the squirrels squeaking by by the banks
The mambas between green leaves
Waylaying the frogs in their innocuous croaks

All these will cease out of season
When much of the volume is gone
And isolated pools litter its bed
Here I love to be too
Where crabs creak
Where tadpoles wriggle
And bids twitter above
My roosters frolick here too
On the brown dry leaves
That have obeyed gravity
Where they scavenge for worms

Dear little river
Do not leave me
Hold me to your bed
Hold me to your cascades
To nature which you signify
The only thing in my backyard
Which makes my country a place to be!

by Tony Adah

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