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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=422361" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Brook In The City</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=422361" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">in my heart <br>a river runs<br>alluvial, fishes, <br>leaves, flowers and all<br>a catfish winds <br>its way up to the surface<br>shows its pinkish whiskers<br>and round mouth <br>and down in a fleet second<br>puyu splash<br>their way down <br>after a fall<br>bubble, splash, bubble, splash, <br>big fish, small fish, <br>breakdance<br>down the river<br>their only way to show<br>joy and gratitude <br>for nature's care<br>like a gymnast<br>they turn their tails up <br>bend and sweep<br>the water swivels<br>and down they go <br>head plunging<br>the river a stage<br>of tail splashing game <br>how the world has changed since<br>thirty years the sweep of a puyu's tail<br>i could still collect that childhood heart <br>that had gone afflutter<br>the river that has changed course<br>to run through my heart<br>calming nerves and evoking childhood joy<br>the river now buried deep<br>in the town's memory<br>the river now imprisoned <br>caged between cement walls<br>no more fishes, no more splashdance, breakdance<br>red water, blooms and leaves! <br>the river that now only has me as its fish<br>splashing every now and then<br>to let its sweetness flow forth <br>the river now buried deep in the earth<br>in the city's mind</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=422361" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">inspired by</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=422361" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">A Brook In The City<br>The farmhouse lingers, though averse to square<br>With the new city street it has to wear<br>A number in. But what about the brook<br>That held the house as in an elbow-crook? <br>I ask as one who knew the brook, its strength<br>And impulse, having dipped a finger length<br>And made it leap my knuckle, having tossed<br>A flower to try its currents where they crossed.<br>The meadow grass could be cemented down<br>From growing under pavements of a town; <br>The apple trees be sent to hearth-stone flame.<br>Is water wood to serve a brook the same? <br>How else dispose of an immortal force<br>No longer needed? Staunch it at its source<br>With cinder loads dumped down? The brook was thrown<br>Deep in a sewer dungeon under stone<br>In fetid darkness still to live and run -<br>And all for nothing it had ever done<br>Except forget to go in fear perhaps.<br>No one would know except for ancient maps<br>That such a brook ran water. But I wonder<br>If from its being kept forever under, <br>The thoughts may not have risen that so keep<br>This new-built city from both work and sleep. <br>Robert Frost</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=John+Tiong+Chunghoo">John Tiong Chunghoo</a></strong></div>