Poetry By Chuck



When our drops gather at the river,
to which all the streams go.
How can we understand the boulders,
around which the river flows?

I write this a little hurried,
Just a touch not a grasp.
Yet, in its message is a reminder,
of many times in my past.

I remember when I was but a drop,
and there was an continent left to cross.
Gravity seemed to grab and drag me.
The easiest way was always my loss.

Now I'm with my ocean of friends,
Gathered close and clingly around.
Supportive in the things we do.
I rarely have a frown.

Author Notes:

Added 5/28/07

Gather your friends close.
Written February 23rd, 2004