Swift water makes its own way; what does not yield
must follow. Who would cross it stepping stones
needs know the rule of water: It cares nothing
for the virtue of the crossing; it forgives no wayward step.
Who can walk it well, the jagged broken path
between two shores? All is peace but there
where an ancient battle carries on greater yet
than he, his fragile hope to stand erect, his feeble scheme,
where square jawed rock has turned its cheek to spit
and buffet yet will not be moved. Fists raised
defiant of change, it becomes the only way
through danger and adversity from peace to blessed peace.
The way of rock is not the way of flesh come
upon the rapids. Who sees his freedom resting
past the strife can have no journey from the brink.
He trusts his fate to rock and gives his strength to war.
