Bear Creek River

Monchielle style poem written for the Writer's Cramp

The trees begin to sway,
A whisper through the pines,
The river hums below,
Its waters dark and deep,
It sings a tale we know.

The otters chase and dive,
Through currents swift and wide,
Their laughter echoes bright,
Like ghosts of time long past,
They dance in morning light.

The moss clings to the stone,
Soft cradle for the dawn,
Where deer bend low to drink,
Their eyes like polished glass,
The sky fades blue to pink.

When dusk begins to fall,
The forest holds its breath,
The river's song slows down,
Beneath the fading sky,
Its voice a velvet crown.