by Gideon Burton
I wish that I could lie within the stream,
the river cold that over granite stones
descends. It is a cool and living seam
between the dusty trails and woody bones
of this, the forest deep and ever green.
Perhaps I could those rippled whispers know
at last, or feel the dancing morning beams
that ply the surface, easy as they go.
It’s foolish, yes, but wiser than it seems.
For better men, alive inside their souls,
have drowned in waters thick with hoping dreams,
have wrecked upon the craggy, stony shoals,
and all for want of lying still and sure
to let the water wash our anxious stir.
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - andywon