Tuesday, October 3, 2006

Babbling Brook

When we walk by the water
Just us two,
The river flows rapidly,
The brook babbles freely.
Then, we are joined by another
And the flow stops.
My riverbed is dry.
Or, if I am very lucky,
It becomes a forced trickle.
I compare my small trickle
To the newcomer's gushing waterfall
And I feel obsolete, incomplete,
But mostly sad.

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