Tuesday, November 18, 2014

That Old Wild Stream

In my younger years
Oh, blissful morning
The dews, the sun rises,
The sweet, sweet stream
Stringing a song to sing,
oh blissful morning
This, like a song I sing on
that old wild stream.

My memories of
That old wild stream has
Broken when I saw them swept
The rocks, the floor, the species and all
Destroyed, killed, exploited, abused
How sad to think,
Oh precious tad.

Waters run dry, fishes let fly
Could we do something not to let them cry?
Oh, be shy!
Don’t make haste not to see them die.
Poor pond, weary heart
Of mine, I love to
coming back my memories
To that old wild stream.

A poem by Jonathan P. Acabo
About the Poem
I wrote this poem, "That Old Wild Stream" as an entry to our creative writing class in Journalism - IV of the College of Communications, Western Mindanao State University, Zamboanga City.

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