Down a dusty gravel road, creeping at a turtle pace…
An old wooden bridge crossed over this place
Our Sunday hangout to escape the rat race.
Rusty brown colored stones in water knee-deep
Felt smooth as glass under my feet.
Carefree and lax as a child I could play
Without any worry of being the prey.
Trees created cover, yet the sun could peep through
As I chased little fish that had a golden hue.
Watching for snakes, pick a berry from a vine
The emotions flow out like a churning turbine.
Sometimes we forget the world that we had
Lock it away, the good and the bad.
Time ticks by slowly, dreams neatly stowed away
The hope to be free and frolic again someday.
From the eyes of the child once mild and meek
To an adult whose life sometimes feels bleak…
Lives the magical memory of one Brownsville Creek.