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.
My book of poetry is being redone by me, I have a beautiful cover designed and the book will have a few more than 200 poems in it. I am going to have it printed on demand here in Canada. When it is done I will let you know when it is done and if anyo