Tell me to stop

I am reveling in exploring your poems and thoughts,
getting a measure of bredth and limits --
but ever drawn to post and share
and expand 'till someone tells me to stop!

For I am a storyteller;
and I find myself
phrasing each speech, announcement or lesson
in a peotic form -- or lyric verse --
broken into 'thought bites'
for nibbling rather than gulping
or sipping -- never gusling,
hopefully singing to one's soul
instead of jumbled mind
or sorrowed heart,
or joyfull distraction.

Try this 'story' -- poetry or no??

faucon
...............................................
Spritely

Red Clover Creek is unknown to most;
forgotten, never found --
only about 30 miles long.
Start with the mingling of nameless tiny streams --
empty into the languid Indian River,
both ends reachable only by terrible dirt roads --
best unknown.

Camp about half way down --
decide to explore.
Travers side slopes so steep -- brush covered;
only travel by hopping from rock to rock,
sometimes backtracking to find a better route.
Find at places the Creek is only about twelve feet across and a foot deep;
at others perhaps thirty feet wide and only a couple of inches deep.
Hummocks of Red Clover poke up
here and there
like hairy basket balls -- don't step there.

Then a miracle!
The walls change to high rock cliffs.
Gasp!
At the base is the most perfect swimming hole ever.
A natural basin formed by churning granite boulders on the softer shale.
It is perhaps thirty feet across and twenty feet deep.
Giant boulders around allow a dive of up to ten feet,
or a run down a natural water slide.
There are smaller pools also,
where I can sit with only my head exposed,
while tiny waterfalls tinkle in my ears --
hear the music of the snow.

Thus I was pleasantly escaping the heat when she came.
A silent small doe.
Look carefully around -- silence.
Perhaps she mistook my head for a hummock
and the rustling water disguised my scent and breathing.
I just sat emersed there, half awake -- half dreaming.
She straightened up!
Transforming.
Suddenly a young women -- sort of.
Incredibly beautiful -- I won't attempt to describe.
Yet she was covered with downy fur -- pale gold.
She dove into the waiting pool
and I could only see her occasionally as she swam and frolicked.
I dare not move.

Finally she got out and climbed the rocks to stretch in the sun.
Then, with a graceful shimmer -- a doe again.
She took her time re-entering the woods,
nibbling grass as she climbed -- then gone.
I cannot believe I was asleep in the cool water --
neither can I accept that I was awake.
Either way,
it is memory that will never leave me --
just as it should be,
in Red Clover.