Water, of itself, is not persistent,
It's gravity that gives it gift to go.
Man can never move without commitment,
As water, without tilt will cease to flow.

Although the water's cycle always runs,
Redundant from the Earth to sky and back,
It's only following the gleaming Sun;
The dream that lies before you lines the track.

As water will congeal when winter breaks,
To deal with and contend the bitter cold,
So too, must you become the frozen lake,
To make it through your pain and take your hold.

We all are merely puddles on the street,
Awaiting the parade of stomping feet.