Like The Water

Like the water
of a deep stream,
love is always too much.
We did not make it.
Though we drink till we burst,
we cannot have it all,
or want it all.
In its abundance
it survives our thirst.

In the evening we come down to the shore
to drink our fill,
and sleep,
while it flows
through the regions of the dark.
It does not hold us,
except we keep returning to its rich waters
thirsty.

We enter,
willing to die,
into the commonwealth of its joy.

by Wendell Berry

Comments (2)

An excellent poem, with some beautiful images, very, very well done. Dan.
An abstract circumstance well discribed.Nice one Jessy Liz.Empty old theatres are spooky places and somtimes have a life all of their own.Even though there's no-one there. Best Wishes Sid John.