Life is like a rolling river
in birth, and growth, and death similar.
Their life begins as tiny fountains
in dark, deep caves in high mountains,
whose laborious labour drives them down,
‘nd with a splash of cry, they fall to the ground.
They creep; they kneel, then stand and run,
which often looks as smooth and fun,
yet the song they sing in a melancholic strain
should reveal their untold agonies and pain.
Smooth or rough, they ever go down,
down, down, into the depth of sea,
down, down, into the death of sea,
where rivers or life are no more found.
Posted on Poet’s Corner on Dece. 13, 2016.