Leaping in life it moved ahead
But stopped in front of a desert,
With a step in the dreary dread,
And find it fade in sandy dirt.
A few more and I might disappear,
Felt the brook like a wingless bird,
Poor thing engulfed in mortal fear,
A voice when from nearby it heard-
From very desert that had hurt:
You know, wind can cross me well- nigh,
You also can if you assert,
Wind's no such fear, if it can't flow, fly.
But wind well can, I cannot fly,
No matter how so hard I try,
If so, then take a helping hand
Of wind, lift yourself from land,
Oh what a silly thing to say.
If not desert, wind will gulp me.
But, when it thought another way,
The brook began the point to see:
Let wind absorb me, let it gain,
Let me let go of life as a brook,
The clouds so formed shall soon be rain,
And born again a brook, new look,
Wow, I'll flow once again,
Yes, let me be the rain.
Poet's Note: Is not death a new look?
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