So much can be said of water and stone--
Both when they are together,
and when they are alone.
Flowing water seems to be so free
When going forth without a boundary.
When walled in too much, it grows
To be stagnant and green,
and very, very gross.
But if left to wander, it disperses everywhere,
Sinks into the ground, evaporates in air.
Without the stone to hold the water in,
It spreads out sadly...
and finally grows thin.
Water is better when it has a road,
Becomes a laughing brook or a river broad.
Only then can it hurl onward in majesty,
Pouring over cliffs, and sometimes sleepily
Like the Tiber, gracing the bridges of Rome,
Or carrying the ships
slowly toward their home.
Without the confinement
Of a fountain's spout,
The water could not fly upwards and out.
Without the aqueducts as the water's course,
Neither would the city have its life source.
A stone, furthermore,
is worn away with time
When beaten by the wind
and the salty brine.
And thus running water
grinds away the stone
Till we must conclude, it's better all alone.
The rock alone can breach
the reaches of the sky,
With soaring mountaintops
and steeples piercing high.
But without water,
what purpose would serve
From the daring leap of the bridge's curve?
What good would be gotten from a rock that's whole
When there is no water
to carve out natural bowls?
Stone is better when touched by the rain,
No longer dry and dusty but beautiful again,
For the colours of a rock are best seen
When it's underwater,
lightweight and clean.
Stones are sturdy,
but unwelcoming and rough.
They sooner become smooth
with water's gentle touch.
Maybe we are different, a dichotomy,
But without you, what then would I be?