There’s nothing clear as mountain stream
That runs full, year-to-year, it seems.
As silence reigns, surrounding all,
Her trickling down through waterfall
Draws men, she wishing to be seen.
Her beauty bears a lofty beam
In times of rushing and in lean.
Men search on high along her course
To learn her depths and seek her source,
And fall in love with sound and sheen.
She oftentimes our forms reflect,
But will not share what we erect
Within the mind and hope and dream,
Though men may love that listless stream,
To drink, desire and protect.
Yet men still yearn and wish her heart,
Though streams through souls may drift apart.
Eric M. Vogt