Where once water rushed and flowed over moss-covered rocks
where once the deer would roam, fish swim, and the fox
would come to drink, now is shallow and alone.
The water trickles, trickles down over barren stone
and none is there to see the brown grass die
nor hear the lone bird let out its sad cry.
And as my heart could once express its grief,
to shed its tears, feel joy, and sweet relief
and let them flow, now is shallow and numb.
Yet no amount of force can make them come—
from their reserves deep within my heart
they sit and wait, brood and shake, and smart.