In a matter of years I watched
the Mallards play over the moss covered
stream, tuning my small ears
to the sound of great nature.
The kind that is not still, or serene
as some might think,
but wonderous in how it speaks.
Quacking my feet to movement
jetting from the bank to the cool
streams, I like to think I move
with the grace I tried to imitate
a hungry animal finding breadcrumbs
keep moving young girl
find what keeps you afloat.
Pitter patter, hold your tongue
as you must.
Em S. Austin 
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