O gentle stream, thou serpent of glass

Thou hast seen it all

How the years fell like

Leaves to thy bosom,

How thou carried dreams in thy flow

careless, relentless

Soft are thy murmurs now,

Yet harsh....witness to....fall.

Did ye not taste her tears

When she lingered here

Her lips trembling

‘Gainst thy crystalline skin....

The sun painting gold

Upon her hollowed cheeks?

Or was it her presence

Alone thou embraced?

For what is Time!

If not the thief of bloom?

Aye, 'tis not but the hand!

That strips the meadow bare,

That quenches the laughter

Hollow, vast, and cold.

Leaving

Hollow, vast, and cold.