~wilful Water~
Such sweet sound; soft fall of stumbling stream
like murmur swept along whispered breezes,
this spoilt child, meanders as it pleases
with a wayward waggle of some winsome scheme;
no destiny decided in its dream.
Though winter’s hoary harbinger freezes
still charismatic child cajoles; teases
‘neath icy iron of frigid regime,
but in heavens wilful weep, ire is raised,
temper explodes into thankless tantrum
not content to wander upon its way,
but to leave landscape bedraggled and dazed,
woefully wondering how it could succumb
to babbling brook, who pranced in play.
****Not in Iambic Pentameter
Copyright © Colin Marschall | Year Posted 2008
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