"THERE IS A CREEK"
by Marvin Arnold, Sept. '84
There is a creek that runs near a place
at the foot of Wampler's hill.
A creek that I have visited many times, and
it runs there still.
I walk down by the creek at the end
of Merrimac, when I am there.
And think of a little girl with skinny
legs and brunette hair.
She climbed this hill to go to school
and played along the creek right here.
There is a rise in the street where I taught
her sis to drive a stick shift Ford.
The houses here are like gingerbread, the
kind working men can afford.
I have walked this creek with wife
and child, kin and friend.
We have talked together about how
life begins and how it ends.
At the top of the hill, we said
goodby to the leader of the band.
There are things we ask ourselves as
we walk beside this wooded stream.
Things that we do not understand,
perhaps the questions aren't what they seem.
We think of times we should have given
of ourselves, and of goals we only dream.
In the summer we are like children
who played here and built a fort.
Now in autumn we wonder how our
lives will fair in God's grand court.
In times gone by, I paid no attention to
the creek that runs there still.
Now I stop to look with different eyes
along this creek, I guess I always will.
Our lives are like this creek that runs
to the foot of Wampler's hill.
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