Those Before Me

Oft' the days I have waded
upon the rocky top of a clear stream
where the crest flows,
an echo
into the basement of time.

Each rush reflects a whisper of
the ancestor that has passed before,
like a time vaulted door
I can see
these same rocks
all those years ago,
holding bare toes and buckets
in waiting of cool dips,
and children with laughter.

Two hundred years of memories
and generations of stories told
all to unfold,
here,
where the beauty steals
{all the right words}.

A silent mind listens,
through such calming clarity
as the crest flows,
sweet thoughts of memories
two hundred years old,
all in an echo,
through the basement of time.