Bubbling
birthing spring, dribbling,
Gathering
ribbons feed the youthful rush
Clattering
steeply down stone stairs
Resting briefly
in deep pools, soothing,
Resumes its
refreshing, sparkling flow
Roaring
rapids, foaming, effervescent
Powerfully
carves, with widening shoulders
A relentless
glistening course,
Meandering,
probing, through rock and clay
Silent, wiser, it rolls on thoughtfully
Diffusing into
salted oceans
Transformed, vaporized,
Memories of
source, distant
Dreamily spiraling over limitless blue horizons
Drifting
above higher peaks, dusted with its frozen cousins
Succumbing to
gravity’s incessant tug,
Diving, free
falling, liquid tumbling
Exploding
upon leaf and soil
Absorbed,
dusty throats quenched….
Mark Osmer, Inspired and written at the Yurt, Saintfield, County Down. Northern Ireland
08.03.2014
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