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?