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
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