Sitting by the Brook,
Flowing under the bridge,
With intent, I look,
On the flow from the ridge.

It has it's own sound,
It is careless and free,
Not a taint or bound,
Along the course I see.

Whatever I throw,
Either Heavy or light,
It lifts it and flows,
Or glide a little right.

We may have dimples,
With laughs for all to binge.
If hurts and squabbles,
Would go under the bridge?

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Vittorio_topaz