In the babbling brook

By hook or by crook the wise Owl will hoot as I swim with the fishies in the babbling brook 
At one with Mother nature amidst the frog and the newt, from the picturesque scene in a storybook
I will be wearing nothing at all but my birthday suit by the light of the moon in a shady nook

Betwixt and between this rippling river Beavers and Badgers give birth and deliver 
baby cubs play with each other and quiver as I watch awe-inspired I start shaking and shiver

I can feel the fresh water as it tingles my toes, with damp dewy droplets wetting my nose and my sharp sense of smell from the purple primrose
I hear cows a mooing from the distant meadows

Oh how I adore this beautiful scene
with silhouettes from the moonlight casting a sheen
Colours of turquoise and aquamarine, such a sensational spiritualistic serene