POEM: Traveling Companion

On mountain trails, the sound of running water
— burbling or rushing —
is a stalwart companion.

Even the rushing water, rushes lazily,
having surrendered to gravity.

Stagnation requiring an act of might —
a Herculean struggle against the flow —
that no drop can muster.

Should an unfortunate splash
spray a drop into a rocky pool,
even then,
time will insist it give itself to condensation.

All paths lead to the sea,
but no two paths are the same.

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