Pond

At the top of the hill, where few ever go, time never changed the pond. The clear waters swell from a spring in the dell, that runs to the valley beyond. A rope still hangs at the old swimming hole, daring anyone with the nerve. A water snake glides, by the bank where it hides, where a casual eye won't observe. Ages ago, the small rivulet was dammed up to block the flow. The work of a mule, and a dream as a tool, foretold what we all should know. Think big and build strong, and make a wise choice, to hold back the waters of time. Wherever you go, there is treasure below, beyond every hill that you climb.