And what about the song of the rushing river,
that has just been born from melted ice,
and in its clear moments,
sighs for the open sea?

Stand with me, right here, on this path.
and listen for the song of the waterfall,
flying water playing on rock,
with a sunlit rainbow to keep tune.

Hear that lament, that sad story the water droplets tell 
as they leave their loving river in fine spray 
as they travel by liquid prism to wet mud,
as they wish they had more time to sing.

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