It's never the same stream
It’s always a new day,
Forever a fresh dream
To blow us away.
 
What is reality?
A leaf in the breeze
Such is the fragility
Of what we believe.
 
A trick of our memory
The sweet sting of pain,
Blinds what we see
As we repeat it again.
 
What of the Sun’s light?
How precious its weight
When swallowed by dark night
That obliterates.
 
And what of an idea?
The tangible Dove
Which eludes us all down here
As it hovers above
 
But deep in a garden
Past thicket and fence
I glimpse something golden,
And see beyond sense
 
Behind it, a fresh stream,
The one never the same.
For what is in that dream,
But life by another name