Follow Me

The snow on the mountain whispered, “Follow me”
when it melted and turned into a stream.
It trickled first and then gained speed to flee
downward to the valley, carrying a dream.
“Follow me,” the stream called. “I have a wish.
My wish is that a river I shall meet.”
It met a river filled with many fish.
But still the river’s dream was not complete.
“Follow me,” it said. “Go with my flow.”
Sometimes it would roll; sometimes it would get
too low or wide, but it made sure to go
where it was destined and had not been yet.
At last an estuary came in sight.
“We’re now with sea!” it shouted with delight.

watersonnet

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