I hear sounds of running water,
Behind standing trees.
It beckons me to come,
Tall weeds hides the path;
Obstructs the way to the stream.
Sadly, I cannot not go.
How I long to sit on the banks,
Dangle my feet in the coolness;
Of crystal Aqua Pura.
Lean back and listen,
To the songbird singing;
Relax to a much needed rest.
None keeps me away,
Not the tall invaders;
Nor the hidden path.
It is I that holds me prisoner,
To cut and trim;
Solves the quandary.
