The brook flows on hopefully.
It descends from the high mountains
To chasms low with great nonchalance.
People gaze admiringly at the beautiful waterfall
And say, “how wonderful and majestic it is.”
Yet the bourn flows on little heeding the words,
Unmindful of the people on its fertile banks.
It says to itself, “I want to meet
The vast and boundless ocean.
It is my dream and endless desire.”
But alas! It falls into a nearby river
And loses its identity.
The creek’s future is bleak.
People will never again distinguish its rippling waves.
The brook is not a true epitome of love.