By the Quiet Stream

Beneath the sky of tender hue,
Where grasses green and clover grew,
Two gentle kine in silence stay,
And drink the peace at close of day.

The brooklet murmurs soft and low,
Its silver threads through sedges flow,
While swallows dip and breezes roam
Across the fields that feel like home.

The brindled cow with drowsy eye
Dreams not of toil nor storm-swept sky;
The red bull stands in watchful grace,
A solemn calm upon his face.

No yoke they wear, no bell they heed—
Just time, and grass, and all they need.
O life that flows without a seam,
Like cattle standing in a stream!

So may our burdens drift away,
Like shadows at the end of day.
And may we learn, ere evening’s fall,
That simplest things are best of all.

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© 2025 Terry Housel. All rights reserved.
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