Her Sorrow by the Stream's Edge
She sat by the edge of a resting stream,
where her reflection peered at her sadness.
She threw a stone to still its mocking glare—
the ripples spread and swept away her image,
as if eager to dissolve her gloom in obscurity.
Before long, the current found her face again.
She watched it mirror her stare once more,
and though torment gripped her trembling face,
her tears rolled—coins sinking into depth.
The birds ceased their songs; the frogs stopped their croaks.
Their silence ached her head, throbbed her chest,
till her skull seemed to burst with anguish—
yet she watched as fry darted in the stream.
The salt-white path of her tears had crusted dry,
begging weary glands for more to cleanse them,
to join those the stream had already swallowed,
as if its waters were made brackish by her tears.
Though soiled by the drops it drank before,
it still awaited more drops of her misery,
polishing its mirror to reflect her sadness once more—
while her body stayed pressed to the sand by its bank,
till daylight waned and twilight veiled the sky.
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