Walk to a creek I did one day,
With ancient paths spread before my way.
Armed with fifty-nine Psalms,
I made my way to the waters calm.
I could not hear the creek,
But I new by instinct to seek
The course the mountain lay out before me.
In a brown field I sat,
Starring at the golden, fat,
Reflection in the idyllic waters.
The waters rose mean,
As if by some specter unseen,
A wave covered me!
Over my chest it moved clean,
In my nose and in my mouth I breathed
The awful torrent.
I drowned in that creek that day,
My body bobbing up and down the idyllic waters.