A BETTER PLACE

A river flows on and on. And some way North another too. Shaped by the lands through which They meander.

Picking up and putting down, Some drifting wood held onto Dearly, others gently left To feed another cycle.

Some day along their ways, Suddenly there’s not two but one. And though the one is born of two, who can say how it should flow?

No matter how much space they’ve crossed, They’ve never really been here now. No matter how much space one crosses, Always the source beckons them back.

But if the one would dare to dream, Whether mighty river or gentle stream, One day I know, that one will gleam Beneath open sky, lone river no more.