I sit by a stream that has
no water. The baron crevice.
No fish or moss...just the
dirt and maybe a fossil remain.
As I look into that lonely mess,
I cry a tear. As I do, the water
from above begins to fall. A
dangerous flow comes over my
face and into that baron mess.
The dirt thickens into mud
and slowly it fills. I watch as
the levels rise and see movement
at the bottom. This stream revived...
...by my tears.
Copyright 12-31-2008©® Sarah Sisson
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
ohhh...dats sad...really...! ! ! crying hard enough to have filled the river with ur tears... nice emotional write...