The Passing Brook

The passing brook is my friend
who bubbles and muses without end
down and down upon the rocks.
The passing brook has much to say
yet I need not keep in mind
the stories it recounts .
A dragon fly or a sparrow,
over the yellow irises
hint at me
as the passing brook flows
along the reeds.
The passing brook is my friend,
it listens to my gaze,
and carries away all my dreams
into the pool of hidden days.

The passing brook is always there
where I wish it to run :
an ageless chant from stone to stone,
speaking Thy constant care.