Stories I Heard Yesterday

Now it is dusky,
And the hermit thrush and the black and white warbler
Are singing and answering together.
There is a sweetness in the tree,
And fireflies are counting the leaves.
I like this country,
I like the way it has,
But I cannot forget my dream I had of the sea,
The gulls swinging and calling,
And the foamy towers of the waves.

The little stream, winding, 
Runs on its way to pour itself 
Into the dying river
And the river lives again
In the valley
The river waits for water
From a feeding stream
The little stream , winding , 
Runs on its way to pour itself 
Into the dying river , 
And the river lives again 
In the valley

The moon is thinking of the river
Winding through the mountains far away,
Because she has a river in her heart
Full of the same silver.

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