I don't know your name, Stream;
Thanks anyway for daydreams:
To count nine strains of wildflowers;
Yellows, purples and pinks rioting silently
On a glorious sun-satiating day.

We eavesdropped from a small bridge,
Dazzled as you preened in mid-summer phase
Yet quietly pursued your watery career
Under our stilled feet and locked gaze.

The day pressed gently, called softly
From fields and emerald trees;
A warming lulling breeze
And serene country sky. .
Two sisters strolled gracefully
Along your wide shoulders,
Their blonde tresses golden as the sun;
Royal raiment splashed over boulders
You washed and rounded over eons
As flowers cascaded down the ranks
Of contoured stepping-stone banks.

In captivated concert, we hesitated then halted
To watch boys in a canoe skim,
Oars caressing your smooth skin
And broad back; you murmured in delight.

We chased the slender bark;
Sped past its lazy course in a car
Along the river-hugging highway man
Has slashed, a winding scar,
Not that high raking your lovely thigh.

Reluctantly at great cost we lost
The race and the summer day's prize
When obedient to the summons of families;
We turned refreshed eyes
Back toward the busy city.