It begins--
The river has commenced
its course. There is a
mere trickling, nothing more
than a few streams
passing by.

It continues--
The rivulet persists, seeking
its destination. A breath catches
now, as it rolls along its way
lifting up, into the
Heavens.

It builds--
Now a brook, it heads
toward the cascade, just
beyond the over-hanging
branch of the cherry-tree.
Wind rushes to and fro--
the bubbling water pours forth,
washing over the stones.

It bursts--
Down, down, down,
the spring plunges, gushing
in all directions. Ecstasy hitching
the wind in its tracks, flooding
the banks. The bough,
unable to withstand the
water’s thrust, splinters,
and is carried by its
Ravager

The Ebbing--
Slowly the torrent becomes
the brook--steadily, the brook
becomes the rivulet.
The calm has come
again, as the water
gently flows as a
pleasant, yearning
stream.