I sit along the old stone bridge
And dangle my feet over the water.
The cicadas are humming in the trees,
The frogs are singing in the stream.
As I breathe in, I can taste the echo of woodsmoke.

The stars are bright overhead;
I’m far enough from the city to see them.
Softly, the water kisses the wreck of concrete
Left by the bridge builders decades ago.
As I listen, I can hear the leftover laughter of my brothers.

The green onion and daffodils are blooming,
And the redbuds are just now putting on flowers.
The shuddering call of a whippoorwill rings
And calls my memories to long reward.
As I gaze out, I can see the singing water around us as we swam.