A lone stork wades in the shallows watching the river run, remembering her olde friend the gator who predicted, his time would come. Where once stood a quiet olde riverbank, that had plenty of trees for shade - now there's a bustling hub-a-bub and the forest an open glade. With houses and docks and rowdy kids, and way too many boats; oh, how I miss the good olde days, when here - was considered remote. I miss that grumblin' gator too who warned, that he lose his touch, he'd dream of scaring the tourists away, 'til that job became way too much! Now he hangs, in the hall of fame; plastered against the wall. yet, tourists still want those pictures of him; he was the greatest of them all. While I am left, to fend on my own, yet thank God, that I have wings for I can still fly to enchanted places, where the Mockingbirds still can sing. With Florida still expanding and still part, of everyone's dreams - it's getting much harder, to find a spot and tarry, where you won't be seen ... Joy A. Burki-Watson |
| A Florida Tale |
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