The small lake seated at the top of the mountain, <br />what is there? <br /> <br />Few climb the steep slopes with hope, to drink the highest water, <br />why go there? <br /> <br />Overflowing in the rain its waters pour down, reach out below, <br />and join the silver lakes on which each day we float our dreams, <br />is it not here? <br /> <br />And as the first rays of early morning sun seep and flow above what seeks to bind, <br />in appearance, its confine, <br />it glints with gold. <br /> <br />In noonday sun a perfect round reflection shines and in its place most high, <br />all movements kept at bay, <br />what is there? <br /> <br />Look closely, draw near, so near, the music of nights stars; still, sing within, <br />quell thoughts' wind. <br /> <br />Clouds' images spin past on deep stillness undisturbed, touch not, not heard, <br />and as we focus to a point, all confines, just dust of mortal earth. <br /> <br />Silent, unnoticed, source of all that flows below.<br /><br />David Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/high-waters-tarn/
