I wish that I had a poem for you, but I don't. My creative inspiration has been used up on figuring out what christmas presents to get everyone in my family, and I have a very large family. My grandparents have 5 kids, 11 grandkids, and one great granddaughter. This, of course doesn't include who they married or are seeing. However, I enjoy christmas and thanksgiving, because all of us gather at my grandparents home and have one giant and loud conversation that consists of everyone interrupting everyone else and is only paused for loud bursts of laughter. This conversation has no topic in particular, but rather contains every topic possible, assuming that we get to them all. If you look through my gallery, you can find a picture of my grandparents' dining room. Maybe this little story belongs under that picture. :c ) I do, however, have a part of a poem for you. The Brook by Alfred Lord Tennyson I come from haunts of coot and hern I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges. Till last by Philip’s farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever. I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow. I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.