Our rivers spring fresh from the mountains,
carving their ways to the sea.
In pools of wisdom or slowing through mud,
our droplets mingle – lifeblood.
Some stay bright and clear at the heart,
while some lead a troubled path –
dashing on boulders until they get older
then spreading out into a lake.
Dammed up, it can be a mistake.
Filling with tears through numerous years
then opening up the floodgate.
Let loose, we drown in sorrow.
As these waters lap all our shorelines,
in peril, we ignore tomorrow.
We seem so surprised as the levels rise,
more intent on debating scorelines.
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