David Hatton

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The Stream

Impatient flows the stream,
Now a mighty river,
Swollen with last night’s downpour
And the run-off from fields and streets
That we were splashing in.
Currents drive the torrent to the sea
Waving grasses succumb and join, like rats or children;
Tomorrow’s flotsam upon a calmer ocean.
Then the stream may return,
Banks visible; drowning rush-heads,
Now surfacing,
As if gasping for air,
Will stand tall and proud once more.

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