A creek runs by my willow tree
And disappears, but God knows where,
And two large rocks in the creek bed rest,
And by the tree I set my chair.

Between the rocks the water courses,
And as it passes gently swirls,
And just below the rock it rises
And in an eddy backward curls.

The eddy spins, and from its lip
It sings a tiny song for me,
A song unheard if any breezes
Rustle in the willow tree.

But on a day as hush as time is,
When neither bird nor breezes stir,
The little eddy tells its secret
In happy meters soft and sure.

Then can I sit transfixed, transported,
And watch the waters gently turn
And hearken to the simple music
With an open heart...and learn.

The waters through the eddy passing
Away upon the stream are borne;
The eddy stays to tell its secret,
"My song and I are naught but form.

But here by rock and chair and willow
For you I stay, though winds may blow
And overwhelm at times the secret.
And even you may come and go."