The stream

The thin stream flows on
Through hills and plain
Not knowing whence
It came
And the length
It will go
Till the waters dry up
Or perchance
Meet the oceans
And live forever

It looks up for the rains
That may fall
Or even a drop of dew
Anything that can keep the flow
As it trickles down ravines
On its way
That it never planned
But became its way
As it flowed

Which is the path it should take
And which to spare
It has no mind to know
And even with a mind
Water has to flow ahead
Through any way the water will go
Does it wonder
Or remember
The icy bosom
From which it came
Do they still hold its roots
Far far away
Or have they been sundered

Leaving the stream
To  its lonely fate