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Mountain Stream
The stream that woıe this little valley down
Had patience of the unintelligent.
It had no care of time. The living things
That came on cautious feet, thirst-driven, intent
On water and a waiting enemy,
Blurred foot-prints of wild things that came before,
And still the water ate into the shore.
Death and decay and little running feet,
And gray flat-headed snakes, swift, slippery, still
In the cool water-cress, and iris sweet
Shining through water like a drowned girl's eyes;
And water, water, wearing down the hill.
It's men who count, saying one, two, three, four;
It's beasts that fear, looking from left to right.
Tris and cardinal-flower are now no more,
Frost withered the wild rice, and wild ducks take their
flight.
The water-rat is dead with his teeth showing,
Set like a vice-but the stream doesn't care.
The stream has centuries beyond our knowing
To wear and wear.