The Journey

Hello imaginaries; this is just a rough draft of a poem I've been thinking about for a while now. I'm not happy with the whole second half, and even in the first half there could be improvements. But with my record of procrastination, this might be all that ever gets done. I was thinking it would be called "The Journey"

Water goes flowing, flowing, flowing

In the riverbeds, along the secret ways

Ever coming, ever going, going, going

Down the mountains, through the valleys next

Never caring, never knowing, knowing, knowing

All the fallen leaves drift away, pulled

The current always towing, towing, towing

For a moment stilled but now the sun looks down

In dry summer slowing, slowing, slowing

But the land has touched and having touched does not forget

And all the green things growing, growing, growing

Reaching up, reaching out to stretch and breath

And the winds keep blowing, blowing, blowing

Across the trees, across the fields, to gather up what’s there

And brushes the weary gardener hoeing, hoeing, hoeing

The gentle stalks are bending, bowing to the breeze

All the seeds now lost will soon be sowing, sowing, sowing

A long way from where flowers in a field once nodded to the wind

Over the land to the sea, with the waters glowing, glowing, glowing

Such a journey on the fickle wind, now a gust, and now a storm

With the high spray throwing, throwing, throwing

Glistening, gleaming, ice white droplets in the sky, in the eyes

In the faces of the tired oarsmen rowing, rowing, rowing

Fear goes on, as does the sun and the night is very long

And the dreadful music of the waves is lowing, lowing, lowing

The drowned siren calls, and sings, and sighs through the dark

But dawn and storm break and the love of life is crowing, crowing, crowing

But some say the piper must be paid, and so, too, the siren of the sea

So, standing on the shore, remember what is owing, owing, owing