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yourself far from home. Why did you leave here, if only to long for this place on Mill Creek where you belong. What is it about that tree in the shade of the lane, the tire swing calling you home again. Why do you constantly think of these things, thirsting for a taste of "Hamp's" old spring. Why do you listen for the whippoorwill's call watching and waiting for autumn to fall. What is it you want, what do you look for? Speak to me, speak to me, Mill Creek Girl. You know what it is that keeps me alive, The chance to see where I grew wise. Go gently, so gently down to the stream lay on my back and dream sweet dreams. You ask me to tell you; ask me to speak 'Tis nothing more than the love of that Creek. To taste it's coldness, noises of squirrel's 'Tis Nothing sweeter in this old world. Kathalise Martin August 8, 2001 Original Poem© |