where the river water runs
falling heaven knows  down
all the tears shed
melting ice goes
from mountains majestic
echoing ice flowed
veins of springs
bring
to the inevitable low table

too much there cries on
beds of rushing  death
feels like
a voice never heard
songs too
beautiful

tormented souls
  bear the artist's
spirit
  choice
is not among
  them

Stood in line
   asking
who was he?
This great poet?
And they said
   boldly,
It was you