It runs beside the house and through the green meadow,
Its glassiness home to ducks, and the sun's afterglow.
Its ceaseless burbling creates the symphony of my days,
Like symphonies of crimson roses, when sun first blazed!
Lined with golden blooms, my silver stream with no end,
Mirrored gay and lovely, but lost just beyond the bend.
Though love is so true, some places the heart cannot go,
As sunshine would bring pearly moon, nothing but sorrow!
It runs beside the house and through the green meadow,
Its glassiness home to ducks, and the sun's afterglow.
Its ceaseless burbling creates the symphony of my days,
Like symphonies of crimson roses, when sun first blazed!
Lined with golden blooms, my silver stream with no end,
Mirrored gay and lovely, but lost just beyond the bend.
Though love is so true, some places the heart cannot go,
As sunshine would bring pearly moon, nothing but sorrow!