PERPETUAL I AM.

I begin as a trickle, of melting snowflakes,
High in the Rockies as Springtime awakes.
I ooze from the sedges, the springs neath the ground.
Drawn by gravity, it’s downward I’m bound.
I’m one of the elements of antiquity,
The basis of life, I begin fresh and free.
It’s water I am, the compound H two O.
They say I am scarce, but it’s really not so.
Most abundant I am on this wonderful earth,
Without me nature, would have been a stillbirth.

From the La Poudre Pass I gurgle and grow;
Then I’m given a name; the Colorado.
Before that they knew me as Aha-Kwahwat,
By Red Indian people in their basic argot.
I nurtured them all and the crops that they grew;
As the lifeblood of life they knew my value.
Because that is my votive, my reason for being,
The source of all life, of everything living.
Though perpetual I am, I’m not here to waste,
For all life depends on my acquatic embrace.

But now I am joined by the Roaring Forks River;
Past Glenwood, Grand Junction, I’ve no time to dither.
I am racing to where I’ll be joined by my brothers;
That’s Gunnison and Green, before nature ushers,
Me, into the canyons, where for millions of years,
I’ve carved out a profile of rich rock veneers.
I take a rest for a while, in mighty Lake Powell,
Then through the Grand Canyon, with acquaric yowl.
I deliver my lifeblood to the azure Lake Mead,
To slake those monuments, built to mans greed.

Through the Mojave Desert, I meander along;
Though no longer free I flow, to where I belong;
On the flat fertile plains, of the Imperial Valley.
Where through pulsating sprinkler and girded by levee,
My lifebloods delivered for crops to consume.
As the food for this world before I resume;
My journey of destiny to my Mother the sea.
Because it’s perpetual I am, and I just want to be.
In the Sea of Cortez, with my food laden gift;
To the Gulf of California, now slowly I drift.

I then join my Mother, the source of all life;
I’m cleaned and refreshed, away from lands strife.
Subsumed in the bounteous source of the clouds,
I begin a new journey as one of the shrouds.
Those cumulonimbus, cirrus, strata and all;
We race over the sea and become a snowfall,
On a high mountain pass I softly alight.
As a protective blanket, all fluffy and white.
I begin as a trickle, of melting snowflakes,
I’m now in the Alps, as Springtime awakes.

Pikey.