If You Sit Quietly Beside the Creek

If you sit quietly beside the creek, 

from its green vantage, the  

rippled frog peers at you 

 

If you sit quietly beside the creek, 

a splash: 

you look  

too late,  

no fish. 

 

If you sit quietly beside the creek, 

the naiads sing, and dryads too, 

weeping willows bough with much ado, 

 

The teetering oak, 

barks and burls, 

while you finger  

sandy pearls,  

And beside yourself,  

quietly sit, 

Finger-dipped  

in sandy grit. 

 

If you sit quietly beside the creek, 

The wind rock-a-bye babies you to sleep 

Not before the mosquito whispers; 

“Might I join?”  

All while 

The stream  

blurts and  

babbles and  

bogs. 

 

I sat quietly by the creek, 

and found it so alive and cacophonic  

that nary a word was bade.