He rests at the crystal clear stream,
Pausing to lower his dainty head
And sip at the cool water.
Finally he turns for home,
Serenely, silently by old crumbled farmhouses,
Till he reaches his misty forest,
And by an old oak tree he settles,
Gazing wistfully at the sky
As dawn rises over the mountains.
© 1997 roxward@aol.com