“Reach out your hands!”
“Don’t let a drop fall!”
This is what I hear
My dear elders call.
“Once the last drip goes,
They’ll be none left at all!”

The cuts on my hide
Burn in the torrents.
I think if they dried,
If I stepped back,
The pain would subside.

I go to step back--
“No!” they shriek in shock,
“You don’t understand!”
I’m pushed back to the rocks,
“Enjoy it, adore it,
Find peace in your flock!”

Roaring waterfall,
I am pushed beneath
What I know of outside:
I’m forced to bequeath.
Lungs are not needed
In this protective sheath.

Elders gather round,
They label me uncouth,
A naive kind of fool.
“Why yearn to breathe truth,”
The aged heads wonder
“When drinking of Youth?”