The river

Long, long ago, a single stream,
So thin and small it scarce could seem.
But time passed on, the water flowed,
Until at last its fullness showed.

It drifted past the towns in turn,
Past piers and yachts and ships astern.
The banks exclaimed in sheer delight:
“What a swift river, what a sight!”

“Why do I hurry all alone?”
The river asked in questioning tone.
“For long a lake has begged of me
To come and be its bride,” said she.

Yet something in that lake seemed strange-
Too quiet, with no room for change.
So onward towns and shores slipped by,
The water foamed and sparkled by.

More frequent grew the rapids’ race,
More lofty waterfalls took place.
“What do you flee as if from fire?”
The banks hissed out in spiteful ire.

And in the morning, when mist thinned,
An ocean met her- immense.

What happened next to that swift stream,
To her fate so prone to change and gleam?
One single wave could tell the tale,
If we could find it without fail.

But where to find that special one,
That ocean wave when all is done?
It rushes to far shores, possessed,
Surrendered to the north wind’s quest.