Wednesday, December 28, 2016


It fell as rain, tears from the clouds, or as
Snow perhaps, soft flakes of sadness, blanketing
The winter ground, and touching the pine needles
With gossamer wings as it passed.
It slowly dripped from branch to branch,
Passing down towards the pine-barren ground
Below, and then through peat a slow seepage,
Until the burden it created was too much for the
Hill to carry, and then it flowed into the stream,
And started a journey past reed and stone,
Down past dyke and track, growing ever
Swifter, and press-ganging more to join
The river now, as it chattered and splashed
Over rock and grass, past trees and
Into the valley of pools and falls.
A torrent now, grown of the land it
Traveled through, and it crashes over the
Lip of the falls, a cascade into a deep,
Peat-dark pool, cold and unrelenting
Onwards to the loch, whose arms are
Open to welcome every cloud-tear-drop.

(c) 2ndwitch, 28/12/16

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