Knock .... Knock ....

Anyone home?

Untitled Songs of Tyranny - Part 3

Just a mile down the road,
ran a small unknown stream.
And, though, it had its own beauty,
it was lost somewhere in between.

There were rivers large and glorious,
that weren't too far off.
And, needless, it is to say
he ran towards them with awe.

The water wasn't smelly or salty,
neither was it stale.
And, never, did the stream ever complain,
while serving him without a fail.

Yet, he build bridges
and bank for the river.
Forgetting if the stream
ever cried a tear.

The stream died a choking death,
before it turned into a drain.
Oh, how much it missed,
it missed for a rain.

A rain that would have made it flow
the one that would have poured all night
But, alas! the dream was too big;
too big before the river's might.