By a Different Stream You found me by the stream my feet cooling in the water touching rocks that were older, cooler, and smoother than I on that hot day. You put your hand on my shoulder and just stood there listening to the birds, and the water, the insects. I wanted to cry but could find no reason to, for my life was good. It was moving steadily along, around the obstacles, just as the stream skirted the rocks, and fallen trees, pursuing its destiny. Finally you spoke, gently, softly as you asked me why I left the music behind to come here. I could only answer with "absolution, healing." You waited for me to continue. The only answer I could find was to walk into the stream and hold out my hand to you, a simple gesture inviting you to trust me and to join me in my journey for just a short while as a friend, until I could find the words to ease your pain, in order to ease my own.
Roger F. Krueger's Questions:
Does this poem come across as being too vague, too personal
for you to relate to it?