Thought the brook passing by,washing feet of mountains high,
of mighty rocks and soaring trees.
Destined, where shall I go next,
paradise, valley of flowers,
Land of riches, or land of poor,
Lined my bank, with artistry,
Or, paved along with refuse
be parted by the mid way peak
or split into my teeny streams
by a standing mass of sand.
Be welcomed by offerings
or discarded by wretched waste.
about the time to come,
trudged along the brook,
awaiting her fate in the
time to come.
Sprang in, just then, a tiny stone.
Unperturbed was he
watching the scenes passing by.
Surprised, the brook asked the tiny stone
if he knew what lay ahead.
"Why bother", said the stone
of what not lies in our hands
What's bound to happen will happen
Spoil our today, for a fated event
or live today to the fullest.
To be prepared for the ultimate goal
Why worry for what we know not.
