When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook.

The brook started crying as soon as he saw her coming. There was something about her face and her manner that reminded him of a girl who’d fallen into him years ago. Her song was so sad. Her arms full of flower crowns. She did not seem as though she might be coming to crown him king. She looked likely to lose her footing on one of those slippery rocks in his bank. She was wearing clothes that suggested she had not spent much time in nature. She was lost in her own world. He thought, “If she falls, I’ll do my best to toss her back on to the bank. I’ll bring her to a rock. I’ll catch her in the weeds.” He had a million plans but he knew none would really work.

By the time that tree branch broke and unceremoniously dumped her into the water, the brook was crying was so hard he could barely feel her land.

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