Pim-pok, then splash, the waters hit.
The radiant void that stands before me,
I marvel, the gentle flowing waves.
Waves that sweep and feed and weed.
Pim-pok, then splash, I hear the sound
From the rock on which I stand,
But 'tis no fortress like Peter to Christ,
For moments ago I lay freely.
I see the raving storm approach
On high, the waters mount my rock,
But moments gone, low these waters were,
Now my space command to cede.
This mere a mare it is,
That feeds to feed in rage;
And I watch the marvel yet
To quit my zone to you in rage.
You hum and hiss in rain or shine,
Gold I hear you are at night,
Your depths a thousand stories tell
Of banes and boons to mankind you give.
How wondrous then will you be
To us that dance to uncertain rhythms?
It seems to me life's vain, now and then we fade
Like my rock on which I stood,
Which now is deep in your roaring stomach,
So will man in verve be raised, only to be seen no more.