On the Pass
by: E. A. Bartholomew

I think I heard the water speak
When passing by the frozen creek.
I do not know where lay the mouth;
I left the pass to take a peek.

Still a child, I began.
I do not know which way it ran;
The water held its icy tongues
And told the child nor the man.

I followed till the creek ran dry.
I follow still, I know not why.
I think I heard the water speak
But cannot manage to reply.