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.