Conquering The Old Creek

The old creek, with little more than A trickle of a flow, Ran along the base of the bridge— Slightly winding as it went. It joins the countless places That foster childhood memories. There, down a hill, we caught Minnows, tadpoles, crayfish and turtles. We had to cross the creek To get to Granny's house. And sometimes, I, a little child, Was timid and so afraid. But there was always one older To encourage and guide along— Until the day came When I was no longer afraid. Then I could cross alone, For I had conquered the old creek. © 2009 W.S.