Green murky waters flow quietly,
Leaves from trees upriver carried twirling along.
Slowly they pass by the stranger on the bank,
Leaning against the trunk that's strong.
Lips closed as prayers move upward,
Silently...slowly...barely adrift.
With struggling faith, they fall back to earth,
"Lifeless, futile, a rejected gift?"
Across the stranger's gaze a sole leaf,
Tongue of fire from the sun-soaked season,
Floats down and joins with other pilgrims.
"Traveling assuredly, yet without reason?"
A far-off destination suddenly perceived,
Comforts the one resting 'gainst the tree.
For mysterious Water carries both to distant field,
Preparing soil for a harvest yet to be.
(Composed on the banks of the Wildcat during the Sycamore RPC Annual Camp-out)
