 |
|
|
|
|
 |
| . |
|
A short poem, in appreciation
of many happy hours spent near what
we children used to call Gaston’s brook Across lush green rolling meadows, far away Where golden celandine and buttercups sway Too your rugged banks, as you wend your way Many generations of children have come to play From your shallow waters, tiny fish and tadpoles we took Although with my life I am now content |
|
|
