the water mill
The wheel,
it turns-
scooping and lifting puddles
, huddled and shuffling drops of water,
cyclic and constant,
pausing and altering natural placement,
while redistributing circumstance,
without discrimination,
terrifying and towering-
atop and somewhere in between
source and mouth;
how steadily Fate may come
upon a freely flowing stream.
The first line should be aligned with the second line, for some reason it won't allow it to stay that way...
