The stream that once flowed so freely and clear.
Is drying up at last.
The song it sang for all to hear.
Is but a sound of the past.
Blocked to all the listening souls
It tries to plow on through.
Beating, splashing, forcing hard, but nothing left to do.
Longing for the perfect storm
Where rain clouds congregate.
Each little drop adding up is something to appreciate.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 12:04 AM UTC
The stream that once flowed so freely and clear.
Is drying up at last.
The song it sang for all to hear.
Is but a sound of the past.
Blocked to all the listening souls
It tries to plow on through.
Beating, splashing, forcing hard, but nothing left to do.
Longing for the perfect storm
Where rain clouds congregate.
Each little drop adding up is something to appreciate.
I'm having trouble writing lately. The words won't come.
