A Sonnet Regarding Poetry's Inability to Fully Recreate an Experience Beside a Brook (That I May or May Not Have Had)

If I should stop to stand beside a brook
(if I should ever be so near to one)
and stoop to ground to get a better look
and gently graze its softly glittered run,
or should I brookside toss a stone to bed
to hear hardscrabbled rubble babble good,
or should I shout across the bank instead
to hear high hollow echoes in the wood-
If any of these actions I should take,
(if any of these sequences occur)
should I, in pauses there- which I should make-
should I attempt to play at raconteur
and write the wooded brook, it would be nice.
But one poor man's recounting won't suffice.

JWR