If your mind’s containerises,
each memory then is just a drop.
And when the droplets do combine,
the puddle it grows, it need not stop.
There is no shape to work towards,
no master drop design.
No matter are the bumps bellow,
twill surface not define.
A child can in puddle splash,
and send in all directions.
But most will flow to puddle back,
be still, and show reflections.
Tears will the puddle grow,
whether sadness or of joy.
The saltiness diluted out,
matter not from girl or boy.
From puddle to pool and then to lake,
great depth the surface hide.
And with the wind a movement make,
to ebb and flow the tide.
With water you can take a drink,
or even let it flow.
You cannot cage it with your bars,
around it puddle will grow.
The mind 2 of 2
A § M