Cracked, pale limestone lines the edges
And the cedars lean in along the old creek
To confer on the tragedy and pass the news
Along to the rest of the forest
Carried on the calls of chickadees
The life has run out
Which once covered mossy rocks
And nourished reaching roots
Traveled to the very tips of leaves
Feeding blooms and sweet fruits
Yet the rains will come again
And the clay-bottomed creek will fill
Not beautiful on its own
But as a vessel of life
My child, he will do the same for you
Your cracked edges will soften, then heal
And your water will never run out
And your mouth will never go dry
He is a spring welling eternal life
Then, be like the old creek
Cover the parched places
Dig deep till you find their roots
And give of his water freely
And eat of his good fruits