Sparkling and glassy was the stream of my past
It was but shallow though vast
Shallow enough to restrict depths of agony
To say it contained dirt or black earth would be an irony
Flourishing; it did in its season, until it dried up for no
reason
I sat all long waiting for its return
If my stream was coming back; I was never sure
Seasons rolled by and I grew tired of the shore.
Strolling up this lonely path of mine, I heard splashes
against the rocky earth
I looked around; trying to figure out the source
I was happy; hoping to replace my loss
Here in my new found love, I see a replica of me
A glassy surface revealing the beautiful me
My stream is not just beautiful, but also resourceful
I'll just enjoy it while it lasts, because it will soon be
like my past's
