Water

Strangest of elements:
Child of two gases,
Yet resembling none.

Precipitate:
Tyrannical:
Yet humble,
Seeking the lowest level.

Clear as a lens
Opaque as flint
Coloured
With whatever
Meets its eye.

When solid, frail
As a wine–glass
Or with strength
To bridge a stream.

Liquid, broken into beads
On a winter rail:
Or wrapped halfway
Across the globe.

Born and reborn
In trailing robes,
Making the rounds,
Dispensing
Indispensable stuff of life:
Or letting fall
Crystals lighter than down
To put all life to sleep.


© The Estate of Dorothy Cowlin 1978–2021. All rights reserved.

This poem is known to have appeared in the following publications:

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