The Brook

I slithered through unwelcome flurries,
musing on those bitter worries
darkest winter always seems to bring.

Although the weather had impeded,
all my mental pains receded
when a plucky brook began to sing.

Beside encroaching gloomy snows
it battled through the stubborn floes
imparting, 'Well, I'll do just what I can.

If I can trickle doggedly,
despite the ice that threatens me
there's still a scrap of hope for you, young man.'