So Little Time

Others’ words tell me the Mississippi’s mouth
Opens wide and deep at the Gulf.
I must convince myself to trust what they say,
For I have not witnessed the breadth and depth
Of these Mighty Waters firsthand.
Pictures form in my mind when I hear them speak,
But to imagine it with certainty, I cannot.
Conversely, not long ago I stood at its source,
Where those frigid and wimpy waters of
Minnesota’s Lake Itasca
Trickle over and around stepping stones—
Ones placed by man himself, in order that he may
Boast, “I crossed that Great River one day myself,
Using nothing more than short, nimble strides,
Delivering me to the opposite shore.”
Yes, it was an exciting thing I did that day,
The cold rain drizzling as my wife and I
Walked arm in arm beneath a
Skimpy umbrella meant only for one.
Yet, my spirit could not be dampened,
For I, too, saw myself accomplish the same task
That thousands before me had achieved
Over countless years preceding my crossing.
Is it too much to ask my Creator
To provide such treasures as this for my
Enjoyment in the not-too-distant future?
So little time. So little time. 

All Rights Reserved © 2006 by David Lee Thompson