Beck

A drop, a trickle, collecting courage before,
with a little rush moving to join, another.
Trickle, running, giggling free,
skipping through the grass, and beneath,
rounded pebbles laughing at the roots.
Running and merging to discolour,
with souvenirs of travel, stains of early life.
Growing to the pull of gravity and
gathering to itself memories of others.
Gathering speed, making first voice
as passing, chuckling, fresh and free.
Falling, bubbling with a small shout,
leaping to land with flecks of white.
Moving faster and moving surroundings,
making little roads to aid future travels,
changing and changing.
Carrying baggage, deliveries promised,
in future valleys, and sea beds far.
A lifetimes falling into the splash of afterlife,
the great tranquil reservoir of little becks.