We live just as the rivers flow,
And moved to where we’re meant to go,
Or doomed to go, if you prefer,
Or much is chance. I am not sure.
So life is fated or it’s free;
Or maybe, inconsistently,
We’re some of both and both of some.
Whatever: what will come
I know it’s not the blogger’s way
To draw no real conclusion;
But much I thought true yesterday,
Seems fraught now with illusion.
I love the rivers as they run,
And ponder them in silence,
Although their banks may overrun
And break forth into violence,
It’s all beyond me here:
But still we speak of what we feel,
And dream of what