Water flow

I stole a piece of time as it floated past my eye. Resting on the river bank the trickle of seasons flows eternally cutting through the solidity of matter and pushing it ever onwards towards action. The face of the nymph flitters in the tussle of golden leaves, little scamp hiding with a clownish grin. Pushing upwards from the soft tuft of grass, I stand firm and upright to receive it's message, singing down from the treetop he sings; 'You art thou, thine ist thee, Listen to my sweet treetop melody, I tap once on bark, Click twice on teeth, Rustle thrice these leaves'