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          The Creek Below

On hill I perch, and look across –
A creek runs down below.
It’s hidden by the houses built,
By trees that upward grow.

This morning I heard sirens howl
Like wolves that move to prey,
But these had savior hopes at heart –
All four that came my way.

They did not come as far as where
The creek runs down below
On high, I watched them disappear,
Between some houses go

Two police and one fire truck
An ambulance – lights glow.
I wondered in my heart of hearts:
What creek runs down below?

Does it run red with someone’s blood?
Is it by anger fed?
Does it run wild with fear and woe
Is anguish at its head?

We realize, of sirens, lights,
That they with sorrow go.
And on this day, in unknown way,
Its creek runs down below.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.


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