The First To Be My Last Poem by Odey Patrick

Until I find the Spring
Spoken of,
And of It partake.
Until It courses down
And fills the Thirst,
My Soul roams wild-
Shy of Mate.

Sometime soon
(Or so its said)
It should spring upon me yet
And,
Finding thus my Hearts content
My roaming halt
with appalling ease
at the epic feat
of my thirst's defeat!

Till then, mate,
I wander yet.
Off lakes to swim
and rivers, too.
If no sharks meal me
at a turbulent Sea,
I should be here
When Spring burst forth!