The Stream and the Sleeper

 

The stream slithers past my face and across the edge before hissing in its departure,
but before it slinks away, whispers of days it once knew seep into my ears.
They went like this:

 

I was birthed high on the bright mountain side, in the light of the shining sire
I played with my mates in the acres of grass and wheat between here and forever
before turning underground, shunning what was above and hugging the stone below my stomach
the moon now low, I took a looser form, more superior in scope though poorer in clout

 

Even the wild will be tamed
and the strong will turn weak
and the young will grow old
before the eyes of time

 

I arise from my slumber and take a deep breath in the fresh air that I craved for so long
and dip my face into the stream
drinking from it endlessly