~WOODLAND
STREAM~
Thru'
a grove of sunlit tree boughs
Trickles
a fluted wee woodland stream;
Late
afternoon's keyboard 
shadows,
Casts
bassoons o'er floored ravine!
Leaves
sticks to wet boots like chewing gum
Cleaves
not to the ground when one is in mud,
Two
left feet catch snow patch and slide
Like
swift trombones down the hillside!
Laying
flat
in the mud...is real humbling,
Yells
spoken an octave
can be sharp
Praying
helps to keep from grumbling
Bones
not broken...so thou shalt not harp!
As
my body rests here 
at bottom
of the hill
Clocks
stop time
... the hands are still;
When
water falls chime
hums and tumble~
It
rocks the bass drums with a rumble.
The
xylophone
rings its bell tone
It
dials up heaven to sing on God's cell phone.
Saxophones 
play patriotic anthems
French
horns
are set to hear for miles,
In
contrast to soft frets and strings of viols
Accordians
harmonicas stay in
rhythm
As
trumpets chants woodlands hymn.
"Beauty
is seen
by
those with dreams
Who
run down the ravines
To
follow its streams"
©
Andrea Jeanne Petersen
Written
March 24, 2004
Updated
March 26 to edit
verses
two and three which
literally
'fell' into place:0)
