Our Pet, Water - Poem by Fred Babbin
The babbling water in the brook
sounds different from the water
coming from the tap -
more musical, much more free.
The pebbles make it gurgle -
not like the tap
where technology has captured it
making it 'useful', coming
with a technological roar.
A chemical dog
that will lick our hands
until they are clean.
No fish swims in it
no plants grow in it
unless we capture it again
to use again for our purpose.
So we drink and never think
of 'life' and 'purpose', 'plan' or 'goal'
and enjoy its cool wetness.
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