Water

Let’s not muddy The water:

Some where down stream, a pigeon may be drinking.

Or in a distant wood , a gold finch may be washing her fathers.

Or in a village , a jar may be filling.

Let’s not muddy the water:

Perhaps the current passes by a poplar,

Washing sorrow from some lonely heart.

Perhaps a dervish has dipped his dry bread in it.

A beautiful woman walks to the river bank.

Let’s not muddy the water:

Beauty’s face is reflected two fold.

How sweet the water!

How limpid the river!

The people upstream, the are so sevens!

May their springs never dry!

May their cows gush milk forever!

I have not seen their village.

Be sides their wattles, There’s no doubt the footprint of god.

There, the moon bathes in light the expanse of the word.

In the village upstream, the mud walls are no doubt kept low.

The village know the red poppy when it blooms.

There, blue is a true blue, no doubt.

When a flower opens, it’s news.

Oh what a village!

May its alleyways be forever filled with music!

The people upstream appreciate the water.

They have not muddied it.

Let’s also keep the water clear.