SonGoku2022

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by, And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking, And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking. I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying. I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

I came with a roar from the western sky And over the western hill; I shook the rocks as I thundered by, And I bent the woods to my will. I came at two of the village clock, When the night was heavy with mirk; I carried a torch in one of my hands, And in one I carried a dirk. I hid the torch in my folds of rain, Till sudden I showed its glare; I plunged the dirk in the thick of the woods And splintered a pine-tree there. I kindled a fire in the forcst leaves, And put it out with my rain; I leaped with a howi from the western ridge And rushed o’er the western plain. I came at two of the village clock. And raced through the empty street. I slashed the houghs of the arching elms, And the high church tower I beat. I flung my rain through the shingled roofs And into the window—souse! The nightgowned folk with their lamps Hurried around the house. The children snuggled in awesome beds, And trembled to hear my shout; And yet it was pleasant, so safe within, So marvellous wild without. Then away from the town I flung myself, And into the eastern sea, Where the big black waves rose up with a roar And heavily welcomed me. I came and I went at the beck of the Lord, The Lord of storms and of men, And I crouch in my cave at the end of the world Till He beckons me forth again. Source: https://pickmeuppoetry.org/the-thunder-storm-by-amos-russel-wells/

I came with a roar from the western sky And over the western hill; I shook the rocks as I thundered by, And I bent the woods to my will. I came at two of the village clock, When the night was heavy with mirk; I carried a torch in one of my hands, And in one I carried a dirk. I hid the torch in my folds of rain, Till sudden I showed its glare; I plunged the dirk in the thick of the woods And splintered a pine-tree there. I kindled a fire in the forcst leaves, And put it out with my rain; I leaped with a howi from the western ridge And rushed o’er the western plain. I came at two of the village clock. And raced through the empty street. I slashed the houghs of the arching elms, And the high church tower I beat. I flung my rain through the shingled roofs And into the window—souse! The nightgowned folk with their lamps Hurried around the house. The children snuggled in awesome beds, And trembled to hear my shout; And yet it was pleasant, so safe within, So marvellous wild without. Then away from the town I flung myself, And into the eastern sea, Where the big black waves rose up with a roar And heavily welcomed me. I came and I went at the beck of the Lord, The Lord of storms and of men, And I crouch in my cave at the end of the world Till He beckons me forth again. Source: https://pickmeuppoetry.org/the-thunder-storm-by-amos-russel-wells/

The night sky is a dull grey white. An opaque dust sheet floats so light Upon the roofs and lamps and cars. It settles so softly like falling stars. It sneaks in crevices and onto window sills. Piles up in soft layers over roads and hills, Weighs down branches, envelopes bark, Skips and flutters across the depth of dark. With dawn a scene of raw meringue. From bough and bridge and roof does hang. Through night's deep slumber - a silent world Descended - a ghostly shroud unfurled. In slow motion, life begins to show. The traffic crawls in a funereal row. Children squeal in soundless delight. Pedestrians slide in voiceless fright. A world transformed into monochrome, An aerosol sky spraying its white foam, Floating in breathless, boundless speed, Submerging all with voracious greed.

As from the face of heaven the shattered clouds Tumultuous rove, the interminable sky Sublimer swells, and o’er the world expands A purer azure. Through the lightened air A higher luster and a clearer calm, Diffusive, tremble; while, as if in sign Of danger past, a glittering robe of joy, Set off abundant by the yellow ray, Invests the fields; and nature smiles revived. ‘T is beauty all, and grateful song around, Joined to the low of kine, and numerous bleat Of flocks thick-nibbling through the clovered vale: And shall the hymn be marred by thankless man, Most favored; who, with voice articulate, Should lead the chorus of this lower world? Shall man, so soon forgetful of the Hand That hushed the thunder, and serenes the sky, Extinguished fed that spark the tempest waked, That sense of powers exceeding far his own, Ere yet his feeble heart has lost its fears?

There, in a meadow, by the river’s side, A flock of nymphs I chanced to espy, All lovely daughters of the flood thereby, With goodly greenish locks, all loose untied, As each had been a bride; And each one had a little wicker basket, Made of fine twigs, entrailed curiously, In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket, And with fine fingers cropt full featously The tender stalks on high. Of every sort, which in that meadow grew, They gathered some; the violet pallid blue, The little daisy, that at evening closes, The virgin lily, and the primrose true, With store of vermeil roses, To deck their bridegrooms’ posies Against the bridal day, which was not long: Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.

The perpetual cadence of the vast sea Stirs a restless desire that engulfs me. Like an infinite force I dare not impede, Briefly rushing in - only to then recede. Beckoning me to leave life's safe shore, Into deep waters of mystery and lore. The seagulls' cries seem to taunt me, To follow them over the endless sea, Where I'd be free to spread my wings And discover the new life the sea brings. Yet, fear holds me fast to a familiar place, Away from the unknown trials I may face. Even the ocean's waves seem to conspire, Relentlessly calling to stoke curiosity's fire, As they rumble ashore with impatient haste, Swirling about my feet with purpose chaste, Urging me to follow as they return to the sea, Leaving a luring trail of life or its relics for me. Shall I boldly explore the sea's possibilities, Or allow imagined worries to be liabilities? Although I cannot foretell all the sea offers, The strong desire to enrich my mind's coffers Begs me to obey the sea's enticing siren song And let its wandering currents carry me along. As the day slowly wanes on the sea's horizon, I ponder the sea's glittering trail to the sun, Inviting me to watch its vibrant dying light, Before the day's life gives way to the night. Still, I lingered a while after it faded away, Wondering about the promises of a new day.

Slow boiling up, on the horizon’s brim, Huge clouds arise, mountainous, dark and grim, Sluggish and slow upon the air they ride, As pitch-black ships o’er the blue ocean glide; Curling and hovering o’er the gloomy south, As curls the sulphur from the cannon’s mouth. More grizly in the sun the tempest comes, And through the wood with threatened vengeance hums, Hissing more loud and loud among the trees:– The frighted wild-wind trembles to a breeze, Just turns the leaf in terrifying sighs, Bows to the spirit of the storm, and dies. In wild pulsations beats the heart of fear, At the low rumbling thunder creeping near. The poplar leaf now resteth on its tree; And the mill-sail, once twirling rapidly, Lagging and lagging till each breeze had dropt, Abruptly now in hesitation stopt. The very cattle gaze upon the gloom, And seemly dread the threat’ned fate to come. The little birds sit mute within the bush, And nature’s very breath is stopt and hush. The shepherd leaves his unprotected flock, And flies for shelter in some scooping rock; There hides in fear from the dread boding wrath, Lest rocks should tremble when it sallies forth, And that almighty Power, that bids it roar, Hath seal’d the doom when time shall be no more. The cotter’s family cringe round the hearth, Where all is sadden’d but the cricket’s mirth: The boys through fear in soot-black corner push, And ‘tween their father’s knees for safety crush; Each leaves his plaything on the brick-barr’d floor, The idle top and ball can please no more, And oft above the wheel’s unceasing thrum The murmur’s heard to whisper,–“Is it come!” The clouds more dismal darken on the eye, More huge, more fearful, and of deeper dye; And, as unable to light up the gloom, The sun drops sinking in its bulging tomb. Now as one glances sky-ward with affright, Short vivid lightnings catch upon the sight; While like to rumbling armies, as it were, Th’ approaching thunder mutters on the ear, And still keeps creeping on more loud and loud, And stronger lightnings splinter through the cloud. An awe-struck monument of hope and fear, Mute expectation waits the terror near, That dreadful clap, that terminates suspense, When ruin meets us or is banish’d hence. The signal’s given in that explosive flash,– One moment’s pause–and then the horrid crash:– -Almighty, what a shock!–the jostled wrack Of nature seems in mingled ruins done; Astounded echo rives the terrors back, And tingles on the ear a dying swoon. Flash, peal, and flash still rend the melting cloud; All nature seems to sigh her race is o’er, And as she shrinks ‘neath chaos’ dismal shroud, Gives meek consent that suns shall shine no more. Where is the sinner now, with careless eye, Will look, and say that all is chance’s whim; When hell e’en trembles at God’s majesty, And sullen owns that nought can equal him? But clouds now melt like mercy into tears, And nature’s Lord his wrath in kindness stops: Each trembling cotter now delighted hears The rain fall down in heavy-pattering drops. The sun ‘gins tremble through the cloud again, And a slow murmur wakes the delug’d plain; A murmur of thanksgiving, mix’d with fear, For God’s great power and our deliverance here. Source: https://pickmeuppoetry.org/description-of-a-thunder-storm-by-john-clare/

Thunder blossoms gorgeously above our heads, Great, hollow, bell-like flowers, Rumbling in the wind, Stretching clappers to strike our ears . . . Full-lipped flowers Bitten by the sun Bleeding rain Dripping rain like golden honey— And the sweet earth flying from the thunder.

The farthest thunder that I heard Was nearer than the sky, And rumbles still, though torrid noons Have lain their missiles by. The lightning that preceded it Struck no one but myself, But I would not exchange the bolt For all the rest of life. Indebtedness to oxygen The chemist may repay, But not the obligation To electricity. It founds the homes and decks the days, And every clamor bright Is but the gleam concomitant Of that waylaying light. The thought is quiet as a flake, — A crash without a sound; How life’s reverberation Its explanation found! Source: https://pickmeuppoetry.org/the-farthest-thunder-that-i-heard-by-emily-dickinson/

My mind has thunderstorms, That brood for heavy hours: Until they rain me words, My thoughts are drooping flowers And sulking, silent birds. Yet come, dark thunderstorms, And brood your heavy hours; For when you rain me words, My thoughts are dancing flowers And joyful singing birds.

I came with a roar from the western sky And over the western hill; I shook the rocks as I thundered by, And I bent the woods to my will. I came at two of the village clock, When the night was heavy with mirk; I carried a torch in one of my hands, And in one I carried a dirk. I hid the torch in my folds of rain, Till sudden I showed its glare; I plunged the dirk in the thick of the woods And splintered a pine-tree there. I kindled a fire in the forcst leaves, And put it out with my rain; I leaped with a howi from the western ridge And rushed o’er the western plain. I came at two of the village clock. And raced through the empty street. I slashed the houghs of the arching elms, And the high church tower I beat. I flung my rain through the shingled roofs And into the window—souse! The nightgowned folk with their lamps Hurried around the house. The children snuggled in awesome beds, And trembled to hear my shout; And yet it was pleasant, so safe within, So marvellous wild without. Then away from the town I flung myself, And into the eastern sea, Where the big black waves rose up with a roar And heavily welcomed me. I came and I went at the beck of the Lord, The Lord of storms and of men, And I crouch in my cave at the end of the world Till He beckons me forth again. Source: https://pickmeuppoetry.org/the-thunder-storm-by-amos-russel-wells/

The perpetual cadence of the vast sea Stirs a restless desire that engulfs me. Like an infinite force I dare not impede, Briefly rushing in - only to then recede. Beckoning me to leave life's safe shore, Into deep waters of mystery and lore. The seagulls' cries seem to taunt me, To follow them over the endless sea, Where I'd be free to spread my wings And discover the new life the sea brings. Yet, fear holds me fast to a familiar place, Away from the unknown trials I may face. Even the ocean's waves seem to conspire, Relentlessly calling to stoke curiosity's fire, As they rumble ashore with impatient haste, Swirling about my feet with purpose chaste, Urging me to follow as they return to the sea, Leaving a luring trail of life or its relics for me. Shall I boldly explore the sea's possibilities, Or allow imagined worries to be liabilities? Although I cannot foretell all the sea offers, The strong desire to enrich my mind's coffers Begs me to obey the sea's enticing siren song And let its wandering currents carry me along. As the day slowly wanes on the sea's horizon, I ponder the sea's glittering trail to the sun, Inviting me to watch its vibrant dying light, Before the day's life gives way to the night. Still, I lingered a while after it faded away, Wondering about the promises of a new day.

Talk to my heart, O winds - Talk to my heart to-night; My spirit always finds With you a new delight - Finds always new delight, In your silver talk at night. Give me your soft embrace As you used to long ago, In your shadowy trysting-place, When you seemed to love me so - When you sweetly kissed me so. On the green hills, long ago. Come up from your cool bed. In the stilly twilight sea, For the dearest hope lies dead That was ever dear to me; Come up from your cool bed, And we'll talk about the dead. Tell me, for oft you go, Winds - lovely winds of night - About the chambers low, With sheets so dainty white, If they sleep through all the night In the beds so chill and white? Talk to me, winds, and say If in the grave be rest. For, O! Life's little day Is a weary one at best; Talk to my heart and say If Death will give me rest.

In silent night when rest I took, For sorrow near I did not look, I wakened was with thund’ring noise And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice. That fearful sound of “fire” and “fire,” Let no man know is my Desire. I, starting up, the light did spy, And to my God my heart did cry To straighten me in my Distress And not to leave me succourless. Then, coming out, behold a space The flame consume my dwelling place. And when I could no longer look, I blest His name that gave and took, That laid my goods now in the dust. Yea, so it was, and so ‘twas just. It was his own, it was not mine, Far be it that I should repine; He might of all justly bereft But yet sufficient for us left. When by the ruins oft I past My sorrowing eyes aside did cast And here and there the places spy Where oft I sate and long did lie. Here stood that trunk, and there that chest, There lay that store I counted best. My pleasant things in ashes lie And them behold no more shall I. Under thy roof no guest shall sit, Nor at thy Table eat a bit. No pleasant talk shall ‘ere be told Nor things recounted done of old. No Candle e’er shall shine in Thee, Nor bridegroom‘s voice e’er heard shall be. In silence ever shalt thou lie, Adieu, Adieu, all’s vanity. Then straight I ‘gin my heart to chide, And did thy wealth on earth abide? Didst fix thy hope on mould’ring dust? The arm of flesh didst make thy trust? Raise up thy thoughts above the sky That dunghill mists away may fly. Thou hast a house on high erect Framed by that mighty Architect, With glory richly furnished, Stands permanent though this be fled. It‘s purchased and paid for too By Him who hath enough to do. A price so vast as is unknown, Yet by His gift is made thine own; There‘s wealth enough, I need no more, Farewell, my pelf, farewell, my store. The world no longer let me love, My hope and treasure lies above.

Listen. The wind is still, And far away in the night— See! The uplands fill With a running light. Open the doors. It is warm; And where the sky was clear — Look! The head of a storm That marches here! Come under the trembling hedge— Fast, although you fumble. . . . There! Did you hear the edge Of winter crumble? Source: https://pickmeuppoetry.org/spring-thunder-by-mark-van-doren/

Let the bird of loudest lay On the sole Arabian tree Herald sad and trumpet be, To whose sound chaste wings obey. But thou shrieking harbinger, Foul precurrer of the fiend, Augur of the fever's end, To this troop come thou not near. From this session interdict Every fowl of tyrant wing, Save the eagle, feather'd king; Keep the obsequy so strict. Let the priest in surplice white, That defunctive music can, Be the death-divining swan, Lest the requiem lack his right. And thou treble-dated crow, That thy sable gender mak'st With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st, 'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go. Here the anthem doth commence: Love and constancy is dead; Phoenix and the Turtle fled In a mutual flame from hence. So they lov'd, as love in twain Had the essence but in one; Two distincts, division none: Number there in love was slain. Hearts remote, yet not asunder; Distance and no space was seen 'Twixt this Turtle and his queen: But in them it were a wonder. So between them love did shine That the Turtle saw his right Flaming in the Phoenix' sight: Either was the other's mine. Property was thus appalled That the self was not the same; Single nature's double name Neither two nor one was called. Reason, in itself confounded, Saw division grow together, To themselves yet either neither, Simple were so well compounded; That it cried, "How true a twain Seemeth this concordant one! Love has reason, reason none, If what parts can so remain." Whereupon it made this threne To the Phoenix and the Dove, Co-supremes and stars of love, As chorus to their tragic scene

The farthest thunder that I heard Was nearer than the sky, And rumbles still, though torrid noons Have lain their missiles by. The lightning that preceded it Struck no one but myself, But I would not exchange the bolt For all the rest of life. Indebtedness to oxygen The chemist may repay, But not the obligation To electricity. It founds the homes and decks the days, And every clamor bright Is but the gleam concomitant Of that waylaying light. The thought is quiet as a flake, — A crash without a sound; How life’s reverberation Its explanation found!

Slow boiling up, on the horizon’s brim, Huge clouds arise, mountainous, dark and grim, Sluggish and slow upon the air they ride, As pitch-black ships o’er the blue ocean glide; Curling and hovering o’er the gloomy south, As curls the sulphur from the cannon’s mouth. More grizly in the sun the tempest comes, And through the wood with threatened vengeance hums, Hissing more loud and loud among the trees:– The frighted wild-wind trembles to a breeze, Just turns the leaf in terrifying sighs, Bows to the spirit of the storm, and dies. In wild pulsations beats the heart of fear, At the low rumbling thunder creeping near. The poplar leaf now resteth on its tree; And the mill-sail, once twirling rapidly, Lagging and lagging till each breeze had dropt, Abruptly now in hesitation stopt. The very cattle gaze upon the gloom, And seemly dread the threat’ned fate to come. The little birds sit mute within the bush, And nature’s very breath is stopt and hush. The shepherd leaves his unprotected flock, And flies for shelter in some scooping rock; There hides in fear from the dread boding wrath, Lest rocks should tremble when it sallies forth, And that almighty Power, that bids it roar, Hath seal’d the doom when time shall be no more. The cotter’s family cringe round the hearth, Where all is sadden’d but the cricket’s mirth: The boys through fear in soot-black corner push, And ‘tween their father’s knees for safety crush; Each leaves his plaything on the brick-barr’d floor, The idle top and ball can please no more, And oft above the wheel’s unceasing thrum The murmur’s heard to whisper,–“Is it come!” The clouds more dismal darken on the eye, More huge, more fearful, and of deeper dye; And, as unable to light up the gloom, The sun drops sinking in its bulging tomb. Now as one glances sky-ward with affright, Short vivid lightnings catch upon the sight; While like to rumbling armies, as it were, Th’ approaching thunder mutters on the ear, And still keeps creeping on more loud and loud, And stronger lightnings splinter through the cloud. An awe-struck monument of hope and fear, Mute expectation waits the terror near, That dreadful clap, that terminates suspense, When ruin meets us or is banish’d hence. The signal’s given in that explosive flash,– One moment’s pause–and then the horrid crash:– -Almighty, what a shock!–the jostled wrack Of nature seems in mingled ruins done; Astounded echo rives the terrors back, And tingles on the ear a dying swoon. Flash, peal, and flash still rend the melting cloud; All nature seems to sigh her race is o’er, And as she shrinks ‘neath chaos’ dismal shroud, Gives meek consent that suns shall shine no more. Where is the sinner now, with careless eye, Will look, and say that all is chance’s whim; When hell e’en trembles at God’s majesty, And sullen owns that nought can equal him? But clouds now melt like mercy into tears, And nature’s Lord his wrath in kindness stops: Each trembling cotter now delighted hears The rain fall down in heavy-pattering drops. The sun ‘gins tremble through the cloud again, And a slow murmur wakes the delug’d plain; A murmur of thanksgiving, mix’d with fear, For God’s great power and our deliverance here.

I came with a roar from the western sky And over the western hill; I shook the rocks as I thundered by, And I bent the woods to my will. I came at two of the village clock, When the night was heavy with mirk; I carried a torch in one of my hands, And in one I carried a dirk. I hid the torch in my folds of rain, Till sudden I showed its glare; I plunged the dirk in the thick of the woods And splintered a pine-tree there. I kindled a fire in the forcst leaves, And put it out with my rain; I leaped with a howi from the western ridge And rushed o’er the western plain. I came at two of the village clock. And raced through the empty street. I slashed the houghs of the arching elms, And the high church tower I beat. I flung my rain through the shingled roofs And into the window—souse! The nightgowned folk with their lamps Hurried around the house. The children snuggled in awesome beds, And trembled to hear my shout; And yet it was pleasant, so safe within, So marvellous wild without. Then away from the town I flung myself, And into the eastern sea, Where the big black waves rose up with a roar And heavily welcomed me. I came and I went at the beck of the Lord, The Lord of storms and of men, And I crouch in my cave at the end of the world Till He beckons me forth again.

It roars like a lion, Yet so calm and sincere, Like a refined diamond. Much beauty lurks here. It's in the ocean you find true beauty, Where worlds hide in the deep. The ocean is where you find mystery, Where things live, die, and sleep. The ocean is where you go to ponder. It relaxes the mind, body, and soul. In the ocean I often wander. It helps me focus on my goal.

Slow boiling up, on the horizon’s brim, Huge clouds arise, mountainous, dark and grim, Sluggish and slow upon the air they ride, As pitch-black ships o’er the blue ocean glide; Curling and hovering o’er the gloomy south, As curls the sulphur from the cannon’s mouth. More grizly in the sun the tempest comes, And through the wood with threatened vengeance hums, Hissing more loud and loud among the trees:– The frighted wild-wind trembles to a breeze, Just turns the leaf in terrifying sighs, Bows to the spirit of the storm, and dies. In wild pulsations beats the heart of fear, At the low rumbling thunder creeping near. The poplar leaf now resteth on its tree; And the mill-sail, once twirling rapidly, Lagging and lagging till each breeze had dropt, Abruptly now in hesitation stopt. The very cattle gaze upon the gloom, And seemly dread the threat’ned fate to come. The little birds sit mute within the bush, And nature’s very breath is stopt and hush. The shepherd leaves his unprotected flock, And flies for shelter in some scooping rock; There hides in fear from the dread boding wrath, Lest rocks should tremble when it sallies forth, And that almighty Power, that bids it roar, Hath seal’d the doom when time shall be no more. The cotter’s family cringe round the hearth, Where all is sadden’d but the cricket’s mirth: The boys through fear in soot-black corner push, And ‘tween their father’s knees for safety crush; Each leaves his plaything on the brick-barr’d floor, The idle top and ball can please no more, And oft above the wheel’s unceasing thrum The murmur’s heard to whisper,–“Is it come!” The clouds more dismal darken on the eye, More huge, more fearful, and of deeper dye; And, as unable to light up the gloom, The sun drops sinking in its bulging tomb. Now as one glances sky-ward with affright, Short vivid lightnings catch upon the sight; While like to rumbling armies, as it were, Th’ approaching thunder mutters on the ear, And still keeps creeping on more loud and loud, And stronger lightnings splinter through the cloud. An awe-struck monument of hope and fear, Mute expectation waits the terror near, That dreadful clap, that terminates suspense, When ruin meets us or is banish’d hence. The signal’s given in that explosive flash,– One moment’s pause–and then the horrid crash:– -Almighty, what a shock!–the jostled wrack Of nature seems in mingled ruins done; Astounded echo rives the terrors back, And tingles on the ear a dying swoon. Flash, peal, and flash still rend the melting cloud; All nature seems to sigh her race is o’er, And as she shrinks ‘neath chaos’ dismal shroud, Gives meek consent that suns shall shine no more. Where is the sinner now, with careless eye, Will look, and say that all is chance’s whim; When hell e’en trembles at God’s majesty, And sullen owns that nought can equal him? But clouds now melt like mercy into tears, And nature’s Lord his wrath in kindness stops: Each trembling cotter now delighted hears The rain fall down in heavy-pattering drops. The sun ‘gins tremble through the cloud again, And a slow murmur wakes the delug’d plain; A murmur of thanksgiving, mix’d with fear, For God’s great power and our deliverance here.

The farthest thunder that I heard Was nearer than the sky, And rumbles still, though torrid noons Have lain their missiles by. The lightning that preceded it Struck no one but myself, But I would not exchange the bolt For all the rest of life. Indebtedness to oxygen The chemist may repay, But not the obligation To electricity. It founds the homes and decks the days, And every clamor bright Is but the gleam concomitant Of that waylaying light. The thought is quiet as a flake, — A crash without a sound; How life’s reverberation Its explanation found!

My mind has thunderstorms, That brood for heavy hours: Until they rain me words, My thoughts are drooping flowers And sulking, silent birds. Yet come, dark thunderstorms, And brood your heavy hours; For when you rain me words, My thoughts are dancing flowers And joyful singing birds.

The waters never hesitate, express no questions on their way: they know to flow, to speed or slow, around, below or over, through, instinctively from high to low toward gravity, until detained —and even then they'll spill at will, persist, infuse or inundate, eventually evaporate, ascend, commence to circulate as rain sustaining life and all. Lives rise because these waters fall.