Conquering the Old Creek

The old creek, with little more than
A trickle of a flow,
Ran along the base of the bridge—
Slightly winding as it went.

It joins the countless places
That foster childhood memories.
There, down a hill, we caught
Minnows, tadpoles, crayfish and turtles.

We had to cross the creek
To get to Granny’s house.
And sometimes, I (a little child)
Was timid and so afraid.

But there was always one older
To encourage and guide along—
Until the day came,
When I was no longer afraid.

Then I could cross alone,
For I had conquered the old creek.

© 2009 W.Salley