Lull

The stream is silent That once with joyful babble Filled the brooding forest. Her song, Full sung, Is ended. Her crystal dance Is slowed to stillness. And dusty stones Lie lonely In her empty bed. I too stand mute And bear wittiness. It is but a lull. The seasons will change. The rain will come. And song will break forth again. But now, In the interval, All that could be Is overwhelmed by what is, Or rather, what is not. And eternity becomes unbearable.