Seems to me
That our lives
Are like streams.
Across the surface, bright, and shiny,
Float the colourful leaves,
Adding bits of beauty.
But it's what's underneath
That makes our lives what they are:
The colours of the fishes, dimly glimpsed
As they move with the currents of our thoughts
And shape our ideas, our responses, and our days.
When the water of our life-streams is clear,
Life is happy.
Muddied and murky waters
Cause us trouble, and worry.
I wish all of us could always have
Pretty streams of consciousness.
But happiness, serenity, illness and rough water
Randomly fall to our lots, sometimes.