The Brook When Began To See

Leaping in life it moved ahead But stopped in front of a desert, With a step in the dreary dread, And find it fade in sandy dirt. A few more and I might disappear, Felt the brook like a wingless bird, Poor thing engulfed in mortal fear, A voice when from nearby it heard- From very desert that had hurt: You know, wind can cross me well- nigh, You also can if you assert, Wind's no such fear, if it can't flow, fly. But wind well can, I cannot fly, No matter how so hard I try, If so, then take a helping hand Of wind, lift yourself from land, Oh what a silly thing to say. If not desert, wind will gulp me. But, when it thought another way, The brook began the point to see: Let wind absorb me, let it gain, Let me let go of life as a brook, The clouds so formed shall soon be rain, And born again a brook, new look, Wow, I'll flow once again, Yes, let me be the rain. Poet's Note: Is not death a new look?