For Water Has No Conscience

The rapids slow churning, struggling Cling to the sharp-edged stones Dart through cracks and crevices To no avail For water has no conscience Winter ice may give it hope Clinging to frosted stones Seal its tormentor beneath The grimace of an icy blanket Mute the moan of its raging fury Spring’s whispers taunt its deep silence Dance upon its awakening ice flow Entice still shivering buds to bloom Trout await the first fly hatch Anglers await the trout Wide rivers ease the water’s rage Old earthen dams again hold fast Divert its ire to brook and stream Long fingers reaching to the sea To meet on tides its destiny