There is no end, no ceasing
of the stream, no stopping
for the tide, its metaphor
of bowing, honoring this earth.
It could be cautionary,
obligatory, an essential joy
required of all to sit
and watch the flow
as further on it runs,
creeps over stones
and splashes, crashes, races
from its source and on it leaps
‘til it finds the shallow curve,
the harbor, rippled, spread,
greeting old company as new
each time it tumbles in.
Patterns emerge, erupt,
evolve, retreat, move on,
beg us to contemplate,
to sit in silent sun, in cloud,
accept the fall of rain
when it appears on the cliff
as precious darts of vapor
dripping, like tears, again.
—
Linda Conroy, a retired social worker, enjoys writing about the complexities of human nature and our connection to the natural world. Her poems have appeared in many journals and anthologies. She is the author of the poetry collections, Ordinary Signs and Familiar Sky.
