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Jun 12

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The River

A dribble, from a rock,
Drops into a pool.
Tumbles over tiny pebbles
And through beds of gravel,
Expanding, as it is joined by others,
Burrowing through runnels of sand
Seeking the flow.
Bumped and bruised,
In little ways,
Travelling through infancy,
It moves into the stream of adolescence.
Now, boisterous and bubbling,
It bounces from rocks,
Hurtles into boulders
And crashes between banks.
Growing in strength and foolhardiness
And always moving onwards.
At its peak, it reaches
The edge of the precipice.
Full of confidence, it plunges,
A white, surging mass of spraying water,
Lit by sunbeams and coloured by rainbows.
Supreme in its hour of triumph.
As one fall follows another,
Pride reaches its peak.
Greater more glorious,
It seems unbeatable,
Until the helter skelter of success
Ends in a stagnant backwater.
For a while it lurks,
Licking its wounds,
Green, mouldy, slimy,
Sulking in self pity.
Then, once more, it is pulled back into the main stream.
Now, mature, experienced,
Indifferent to flattery and praise,
It flows forward steadily.
Fulfilling its task.
A wide, strong, reliable river
On its journey to the sea.
Finally it reaches its end.
Lapping in the ebb tide of old age,
It holds onto the good,
Lets go of the bad,
Satisfied with its life’s course.
For the river knows it must always flow on
And its waterfalls can’t be re-climbed.

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