No matter what one may gain, there also losses are incurred. At times one wonders, "Is it worth the cost?"
Gone are the streams that are flowing
Gone are the sighing elm trees
Past the gates of sand castles
Through to the ever-changing seas.
Lost are the songs that Elves singing
Send on the summer night’s breeze
Along with the scent of persimmon
And the sound of the brushing of leaves.
A river that flows must end somewhere
Whether in bog, lake or ocean of salt
The taste of bittersweet losses
Regardless of who is at fault.
Who among us can return there
To look for that which is lost?
The sound of gentle steps between here
And the peace that was found, at such cost.