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| The Brooke | ||||||||||
| The breeze gently spins around me cooling my arms from the suns hot rays. | ||||||||||
| Under the big old oak tree I sit and rest my tired feet; for it is a long and tiring journey to this quiet spot by the brook. | ||||||||||
| As I sit here I remember the past: | ||||||||||
| How grandmother would bring me to the meadow.� It was much nicer then in the late summer, when the grass was tall and the wild flowers were all in bloom, Grandmother and I would lie on the hill near the then young oak tree and watch the clouds float by from behind our nets of grass and flowers.� She would tell me stories all afternoon as we sat under the oak tree near the brook; I never tired of her tails as my siblings did.� | ||||||||||
| Now the old meadow is now a park that has a city growing all around it; the grass is cut short and there are paths that wind from bench to bench between the planted flowers. | ||||||||||
| But like the unchanging brook I will always remember the summers spent in this happy place with the ones that I loved.� | ||||||||||
| Even as time goes on the brook and my memories will always remain. | ||||||||||
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