A tiny little stream flows peacefully on its way,

Trees along its banks where birds and children play,

Then trough the dark green of the leaves, the sunlight falls,

And beautyful ducks and geese glide by ivy-coloured walls.

Many years ago the stream flowed fast and busy past cottage window pane,

Bubbling froth, important turning mill wheels grinding grain.

Now its old, it slowly flows unhurriedly past the reeds,

Slipping slowly out into the quiet water-meads.