Slowly down mountainsides
Becoming little creeks joining
Into small streams of sentences
Cascading over rocks of paragraphs
Until at last stories are told
And poems are singing tunes
That turn into volumes of symphonies
Each with its own composer authors
Being heard at each reading
The visions played out in minds
Open to vistas of emotions felt
In saddening happiness hoped
Beginnings on endings turn around
Down the rivers of understanding
Misunderstood through valleys
Flowing at last into oceans
Where mists rise up to the skies
On clouds of metafors blown back
To the mountains to fall as snow and
Words flows like drops of melting snow.
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