A girl I knew, found a brook, in the garden,
filled with wine. All empties laid due south.
So she followed it through the hollow ends,
to where melodies take their time.
Smiling out loud, she fell in love, a little more
than prudence recommends.
But love (as art) is on patience dime,
so she paddled downstream, to unearth a mighty river.
A righteous swell, full of harmony ebbs and echoes,
forgetting she'd even knelt upon its suburban shores and
swapped 'should haves' with ennui.
Curiosity, unsated, she built a boat
and surfed the fickle, fickle tides;
one day drifting in water so wide
she believed she'd tacked into the sky.