I live on the river’s bank

with the beaver and the bear.

The beaver dams a tributary

and feels secure, though I am wary

It’s all held back for the moment,

but the pressure builds, until the torrent.

I go swimming when the weather’s right

like before the rains or a summer night.

I swim contented in the river’s flow

but tire quickly with no dam to slow it.

I lived by the river once

like the beaver, but not the bear.

The bear, I witnessed, held his ground

patiently waiting all seasons ’round.

He did not give way like me,

or the beaver. He stood, so serenely,

and I know he sees clearly.