The Meeting by the Willow
I came upon a hidden stream
while on a walk one aimless day,
when time had lost its metered cares,
and I had wandered faraway.
There ‘neath a weeping willow
I sat to take my needed rest,
to pause, to dream, to search for peace,
to pray and to confess.
And when the wind passed through her petticoats,
the willow whispered unto me,
“O Pilgrim, look so long and deep
and tell me what you see.”
And there upon the waters,
a wood duck drifted by,
on a lake as clear as clear can be,
this soul once born to fly.
Then beneath the glassy surface,
circling ripples did appear,
telling of a trout once born to swim,
now daring to come near.
I watched these two from distant worlds,
draw close enough to know,
the wood duck in her realm above,
and the trout, her world below.
‘Twas in a fateful moment,
that they caught each other’s sight,
a time when worlds so far apart
are seen in common light.
The wood duck yearned to swim the deep,
the trout, to take to air,
both wishing they were the other,
this existential pair.
The duck dove down with all her might,
and the trout leapt upward high,
but, in the end, they did return,
the trout back to the river and the duck into the sky.
The willow once more whispered
unto my wearied, worried mind,
“Now tell me, humble Pilgrim,
‘what truth did you now find?”
I lingered in the silence,
wanting so the words to rise,
then eventually, within the willow’s patient sight,
I whispered to her soul and mine,
“To be thyself is wise.”
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