The stream through the trees
weaved and pooled about
my boyish reflection: you there,
what shall you become?
A half-lifetime passing
I return to find in place of
arching shade and water's flow
a plant distilling ethanol.
I'm alright with that, I guess.
What are mirrors for, although
once my face in the stream
wore a speckled brown trout.
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Darrell Petska, Wisconsin, USA
